Gold Dust Woman

by RockOnGoldDustW

Summary:

War had changed Hermione. Her idealism had been twisted into ruthless pragmatism in the face of death and destruction. Every day she questioned how far she would go to end the nightmare that had destroyed everyone she ever loved.

Being thrown back into the past into the lives of the Marauders would push her to her limits. Every moment she spent with them made her feel a little more alive, and less like the Serpent she needed to be. How could she learn to live with her choices in a world she was destined to die in?

Notes:

This was the first fic I wrote. I posted it a while an ago but wasn’t entirely happy with it. It’s still very much imperfect, but I haven’t a soft spot for the Marauder era, so I’m re-writing it and posting as I go.

The fic will span 5 years when Hermione tries to change the fate of the Wizarding World. It assumes she has suffered in the Second Wizarding War, and there are consequences, namely that she is more willing to compromise who she is.

The pairing is eventually with Sirius, but it is very, very slow burn. They will both have relationships with other people, and characters are imperfect, and act in an era-specific way (i.e. sometimes badly by today's standards!). There are Pureblood original characters, some inspired by other fics, including NinaBinaBallerina's brilliant House Pet.

The plan is to post a couple of chapters every Sunday.

A massive thank you to the brilliant @sabictlali on insta for the cover art

Chapter 1: Prologue

 

The young Witch woke up screaming.

The taste of dirt and blood tanged in her mouth, and a deep pain radiated through her body. She tried to open her eyes but the light of the midday sun blinded her, so she submitted back to the darkness. Her other senses would need to be her guide. 

Slowly, she extended her fingers to claw at the ground, tracing soft grass. The rustle of nearby leaves and the hoot of Diricawl confirmed she was outside. 

She breathed in the smells surrounding her, the crisp air and the rich, earthy smell of trees that reminded her of her school days. It almost felt like home. 

Her breath began to steady, and she concentrated more closely on her surroundings. 

In the distance, the sound of the soft squelch of boots on rain-soaked leaves could be heard. It quickly grew louder, alerting her to danger far too late. Where was her wand? 

Frantically, she grasped at her robes, searching to no avail and forcing her eyes open to the harsh glare of the sun. 

She stilled as she caught the shadow of a looming figure moving cautiously towards her.

Her blurry vision began sharpening as he crouched down towards her. 

His messy dark black hair framed his bespectacled face, and kindness and concern radiating from his rich brown eyes reminded her of another boy, at another time. 

Where was her fight? She would never usually let someone get so close. She had nothing left to give. 

‘Mother!’ the deep ring of his voice echoed out. 

The last thing she saw was the wisp of what looked like smoke, forming into a majestic Stag and galloping off into the distance. 

Darkness claimed her once more.

 

..............

 

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had been married for years before they were finally blessed with fertility. It was a common problem among Pureblood couples, but even in these circles, their late parenthood was an anomaly. They were 67 and 69, respectively, when James Potter entered the world, kicking, screaming, and full of life.

It was a blessing that they did not take for granted. James was doted upon, filled with the gifts of all the magical knowledge from their respective bloodlines, and instilled with an iron-clad sense of right and wrong. The Potters wanted their only son to make his mark on the world, leaving it a better place. There was never any room for James to be anything less than outstanding. 

Even with the love that filled Potter Manor, there was always a sense that there was more to give. Euphemia was an excellent healer and a force in Pureblood Wizarding society, offering advice, help, and sometimes shelter to those in need. Everyone from those who had fallen on hard times to black sheep who had fallen foul of strict social codes that governed expectations of young Witches and Wizards came to their doorstep for aid.  As such, strays were regularly adopted. This suited James very well, who, as an only child, longed for company and, most of all siblings, to play, share, and fight with. 

So, on a warm summer evening in July 1976, when a young Witch fell through the sky onto the lawns surrounding their estate, there was no question that she would be taken under their wing. The question of who she was and how she came to arrive at the scene, dirty, bruised, and covered in a disturbing amount of gashes, was secondary to getting her safe, warm, and well.  

Euphemia settled the young Witch in a guest room and went about her work diagnosing her patient (exhaustion, mild concussion, and pneumonia) and treating the infections in her wounds. She watched carefully as the Witch sank in and out of consciousness, tossing fitfully as if she were being attacked by demons in her sleep. Perhaps she was. 

It was only when she uncovered the brutal, weeping, cursed wound on the Witch's arm that she gave pause. The crudely carved letters of the word ‘Mudblood’ shocked her out of her work, and she met the serious eyes of her husband, whose hard stare stopped her in her tracks.

‘I’ll call Dumbledore,’ Fleamont stated in a serious tone.

Euphemia nodded, her brows furrowed and her heart beating wildly. There was war in the Wizarding World, and this had to be a sign. It couldn’t be helped. 

Dumbledore was with them within the hour; the twinkle in his eye diminished when he eyed the subject of his call. Scanning the young Witch carefully, he saw no sign of recognition. She was not one of his students. 

‘I’ll wait, Euphemia,’ Dumbledore offered pleasantly. ‘Perhaps some tea would be wise?’ 

It took four rounds of tea, scones, and petit fours for the subject of their scrutiny to wake. 

The young Witch was aware that some kind soul was tending to her wounds. Euphemia Potter's soft maternal touch had lulled her into a calmer sleep, but as she woke and regarded Dumbledore beside the older Witch, her eyes sharpened. A flicker of recognition was quickly schooled. It wouldn’t do to let her former Headmaster know the depth of her anger towards him. 

Dumbledore softened his expression and stated lightly, ‘It appears you recognise me, child. If we have met, you will have to forgive me. I do not remember the particulars. Perhaps you could enlighten me?’ 

She took a deep breath and continued to eye him warily. The silence dragged on. ‘Where am I?’ she finally croaked out.

‘Potter Manor,’ Dumbledore answered. ‘This is the house of Euphemia and Fleamont Potter, your gracious hosts’. 

Euphemia smiled gently at the disturbed-looking Witch, who merely nodded in response. 

‘What is the date?’ she continued, her voice low and careful. 

‘July 15th, 1976. How much time have you lost?’  

She screwed her eyes shut and took a series of shallow breaths in response. A new clarity entered her eyes, and she met Dumbledore’s gaze with a hardened resolve. ‘I’m not sure I have lost any time,’ she said slowly. 

The cogs in Dumbledore's mind quickly worked, and he gave her a nod of understanding. ‘I see. Miss…?’

‘I think you should just call me Hermione for now.’ 

Dumbledore nodded carefully. She saw understanding in his eyes. 

‘How far back have you travelled, child?’ He enquired carefully.

‘23 years,’ she whispered.

‘Such a thing should not be possible,’ Dumbledore countered scepticism in his tone. 

‘I know. And yet here I am,’ she answered with gravity. 

He considered her for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. ‘I presume there is very little you can tell me which would not alter time itself. However, given the state you have arrived in and what is brewing in the Wizarding World, I must know a little about your circumstances and, most importantly, your intentions.’

‘I intend to kill Tom Riddle,’ she answered without a beat. 

Hermione had never seen Dumbledore surprised. The old codger was always five steps ahead, and it was somewhat gratifying to be the one to shock him finally, even if she did have to travel back in time and nearly get herself killed in the process to achieve it. 

‘And you know how this can be done?’

She nodded. ‘It can be done, but only now and with very careful planning. Even then, the odds are not good. He’s already on the path to immortality. I may save the inhabitants of this room and your descendants, and even then, all might be lost. There’s no choice, though.’

A look of understanding passed between Dumbledore, Euphemia, and Fleamont Potter. It was Fleamont who finally answered. 

‘What do you need from us?’

Chapter 2: Prologue: ii

Like all of Hermione’s best plans, this one had started in a library. 

It was not just any library, but the library in Malfoy Manor, to be exact. Hermione thought she had died and gone to heaven when she first stepped through its doors, rows upon rows of priceless ancient tomes stretching as far as the eye could see, priceless knowledge suddenly at her fingertips. Then she remembered she was not in a dream but a nightmare. 

How she had come to be there was a long and arduous story. Following the Battle of Hogwarts, where Harry had fallen, Hermione, Ginny, and Ron had been on the run for quite some time. Their world was a brutal, dark place, Voldemort out in the open, controlling the lives of Wizards and Muggles alone from the Ministry and his newly built Palace. The Dark Lord had effectively crowned himself, and his subjects lived in fear of his whims. Hermione's heart broke each time one of her friends and allies fell hard and fast in those first few years: Bill, George, and Percy Weasley, their parents, Andromeda Tonks, little Teddy Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, Hagrid, and Kingsley Shackbolt, all gone within months, not before Kingsley had taken down Severus Snape for his betrayal. Each blow that fell cut her a bit deeper until her heart was a jagged mess, and she could barely feel anything from the numbness of it. 

The Order was all but decimated, but the Dark Lord was still paranoid and executed those of his followers whose loyalty came into question. Edwin Travers, Tiberius Nott, Lucius, and Narcissa Malfoy suffered at the end of his wand. Draco survived, a shadow of his former self haunting the halls of Malfoy Manor alone. He paid his dues to the Dark Lord in funds whenever they were demanded, but beyond that, the Dark Lord saw him as a useless coward, and he was left alone rotting there. 

Rot he did, until a chance encounter on one of his rare outings to Diagon Alley threw his world upside down. The idiotic golden duo: Granger and The Weasel, along with the Weaselette were on some suicide mission to break into Flourish and Blotts of all places.  It turned out to be just that for Ron Weasley, who the Killing Curse hit within moments of apparating outside the shop by two patrolling Death Eaters, and then later also for Ginny, who was struck by slower acting but no less gruesome Hex. 

Hermione Granger got lucky, or at least that is how she would frame it to herself when she apparated directly next to a disillusioned Draco Malfoy, who was not in the habit of making his presence known given his notoriety. Draco couldn’t say what made him do it, but that split-second decision changed everything for them all. He grasped Hermione tightly, registering the fear in her eyes as she reached for Ginny, grabbing onto her just as Draco apparated them back to the Manor. Draco had instantly relieved them of their wands and trapped them within his wards. 

The obvious thing for a disgraced Death Eater to do would be to hand them to the Dark Lord immediately and finally get some glory. Draco was no fool, though. It would be scraps at best. How long before he went the same way as his parents? There was no success to be had in this world, not when they were all at the whims of a megalomaniac. And so he watched dispassionately as Granger tried to save her friend, bringing her everything she would need for a makeshift hospital for Ginny.

In those first few weeks, as they tried in vain to save the youngest Weasley’s life, there was barely any conversation and certainly no trust between them. 

‘Why are you doing this?’ Hermione whispered, her eyes wide and haunted. The sound of Ginny’s heart-monitoring spell beeped in the background, a constant reminder of the fragility of their lives. 

Draco merely shrugged. ‘I’m dead either way,’ he replied tonelessly. 

Ginny woke a few times, and mostly, she couldn’t get any words out beyond tears for her family and the inevitability of her situation. Draco was aghast at the outpouring of emotion, but he couldn’t help but envy it. The contrast between his own experience of watching his mother and father being tortured to death in front of his eyes and not being able to shed a tear was a great one. He couldn’t help but long for a world where he could at least offer the comfort of squeezing his dying mother's hand in a stoic way of showing her that he had cared deeply. 

There was one moment before the end when Ginny was more lucid, and that moment set a fire underneath Draco and Hermione.

'Mione,' Ginny groaned, clutching Hermione's arm so tightly she was sure it was bruised.

'Hush,' Hermione answered gently. 'You need to rest, Gin. You won't get better unless you rest...' 

'Not... getting... better...' Ginny huffed out, rasping for breath.

'Don't say that, Gin,' Hermione pleaded. 'You're all I've got left...' 

Draco, who had been getting increasingly uncomfortable with the heartfelt conversation, tried to stand up to leave. Ginny's other arm shot out to stop him, her nails digging into his flesh so sharply he winced. 

'Don't move... Ferret,' she demanded, her eyes trained on him. 

'Calling your gracious host names is hardly the best way to get more Dittany out of me,' he said harshly. 

'You're going to help her,' Ginny shot demanded. 'She is going to find a way out.'

'There's no way out,' Draco replied. 'You know this.' 

'So make... sure... it never happens.' Ginny coughed, holding a cloth up to her face to catch the blood sputtering out of her mouth. 

'Ginny, that's impossible,' Hermione said, pleading. 'Don't think of these things. You need to rest.'

'You've got an abnormally large brain,' Ginny groaned. 'Use it.'

'I don't think my brain has much use in a world like this.' 

Ginny's fingers dug into her arm again. 'So change the world, 'Mione. At... least... try. For my brothers... for Harry.'

Pained was etched upon Hermione’s face as she contemplated her dying friend for one long minute. 'For Harry,' she whispered finally. 

Draco let out a soft snort. 

'You must have loved someone too once, Ferret,' Ginny said shrewdly. 'Do it for them. Nobody... deserves... this...' 

Draco knew she was right. And so, when it was finally over, and they gave Ginny a burial in the woods of Malfoy Manor, he made a decision. He had no expectations of living. Pragmatist that was, he didn’t truly believe that a single person would change the destruction and decimation of everything they both valued, but he would try nonetheless. 

He started by feeding Hermione’s body and then her mind, sending her to the library with one mission. ‘Read, Granger,’ he said. 

They sat in silence for weeks. He read military strategies, and she devoured anything she could get her hands on, from Ward Breaking, Familial Curses, Time Travel to Immortality.

Eventually, it was Hermione’s curiosity that broke their silence. ‘Why are you reading that?’ she asked, suspicious eyes gazing down at the first-hand account of a Wizarding Commander's experience in the Goblin Wars.    

He answered with a question. ‘What wins wars, Granger?’

She scrunched up her face, battling with herself about whether to engage with him. In the end, the desire for a good debate won out. ‘I would have said skill, luck, loyalty, knowing you are on the right side…’ 

‘You’re not sure anymore, are you?’ 

She merely scowled at that. ‘Go on then,’ she goaded. ‘Tell me what you think wins wars? I’m so interested to hear what a failed Death Eater has to say about it…’

‘Touche, Granger,’ he smirked. ‘Strategy,’ he replied confidently. ‘Long-term strategy at that. You need the right people who have genuine influence at the right place, at the right time. In this world, that means the old family's matter, as does their access to funds.’

Hermione scoffed angrily. 

‘Money is only power because you can buy influence. Like it or not, Granger, it’s the way of the world.’ 

Hermione eyes were blazing as she rounded on him. ‘So you’re saying that one person can’t change history? That’s ridiculous. What about Ghandi, Issac Newton, Confucius, David vs. Goliath?!’

‘Well, I have no idea who any of those people are, Granger, just Muggles, I presume. I’m not saying they can’t have influence; it's just how much harder and impossible it is for them to do so to win wars. The best chance you have is a long-term strategy. Only then do stupid Gryffindor concepts like luck and bravery come in…’ 

They argued and debated for months. Hermione was sure her passion and intellect would beat him in the end, but they did not. A surprising thing began to happen. She started to see Draco's point of view.

She tutted when he first started giving her books on Pureblood Genealogies, Ancient Wizarding Customs, and Familial Magic, but she read them just the same. Of course, they were fascinating, and while she didn’t agree with the perspectives of many of the authors, she could read between the lines.  

Hermione began to see how much of the Wizarding World had been closed to her as a Muggle-born and by the curriculum at Hogwarts. Based on what she was able to read now, it had significant holes, and those omissions were naive at best and dangerous at worst. She realised how limited she would be if she only viewed the Wizarding World through a Muggle lens. 

This process took months, and Hermione, despite herself, was beginning to enjoy their little intellectual bubble.

It couldn’t last, though. War came knocking again at their door in the form of Draco’s only living relative, Bellatrix Lestrange. As Draco entertained his Aunt, Hermione cowered behind Draco’s watertight wards, which held but threw into sharp relief that what they were doing could not last. 

‘We have to try and change things,’ Hermione whispered to Draco when Bellatrix finally left.  

And so they came up with this crazy plan. Changing the world at this time seemed impossible, and so the past was the only option. Life would only be worth living if they saved the people they loved, and they needed to catch Voldemort when he was least aware.

Hermione needed to travel back in time.

Whilst Hermione tried to work out the impossible calculations needed for time travel back that far, Draco drilled her relentlessly on the things he thought would make a genuine difference. She had to become the snake. Her time was spent as a reluctant scholar of Wizarding Political Strategies, The Influence and Familal Magic of the Sacred 28, and worst of all, Pureblood Etiquette. The most astounding and somewhat painful realisation was that Parseltongue could be learned with grit, determination, and skill, which she had in spades. 

How to insert herself in the past was a difficult decision. Reluctant as they both were, it was decided that they needed Dumbledore and the Order to provide her with a cover story. From there, she would need to use a family name as leverage to insert herself into the Pureblood Elite. It would not be easy; she would need time, skill, and whatever Draco thought, luck would play a significant part. 

Hermione was about to become a Potter. How beautiful and painful an idea that was. 

‘Are the calculations right?’ Hermione asked one last time, fretting about what they were trying to do. 

‘We’ve spent months on this, Granger. It’s time,’ Draco replied.

Hermione sighed, placing the time turner around her neck, drinking the de-ageing potion, and clasping on the old Potter ring that was to act as a grounding point Draco had acquired through nefarious means in Knockturn Alley. She nodded. 

‘Thank you, Draco,’ she whispered. 

‘I’ll always be Malfoy to you,’ he smirked. ‘Say hello to my mother. And if you do make this impossible thing happen, try and make sure I turn out like less of a prat…’

She chuckled then, her first genuine slither of joy for years. She was so hardened now, a different, more brutal, ruthless version of herself, that she didn’t know if she would ever truly be able to laugh properly.  

‘I’ll do my best,’ she promised, wasting no more time as she turned the dial on the Time Turner and span out of existence.

Chapter 3: Prologue iii

 

James Potter was not naturally suspicious. He sailed through his charmed life, taking people at face value and those brave enough under his wing. Over the years, his mother had collected many interesting Witches and Wizards, who sometimes arrived in less-than-ideal circumstances. 

A young Witch descending from the sky was particularly dramatic, though.

How on earth she bypassed the wards was a mystery. The long lectures on the security of his estate and the ties of blood that needed to be replenished to hold the ancient fortress that was his home should have prevented it. The fact that she looked barely his age and was in such a state had shocked him deeply. He had tended to Remus's wounds many times and seen the scars on Sirus's back from his hateful family, but this was another level. She looked like she had arrived from a battlefield. 

Gryffindor, through and through, his code of chivalry dictated that he would need to protect her from whatever had befallen her. Even if his heart was firmly engaged (and would always belong to Lily Evans, no matter how she felt), a fair maiden needed her honour defended. So when his mother announced that Hermione was a distant cousin from the long-lost American branch of their family, it all made perfect sense to James. He was thrilled to know they would be formally adopting her. There was no question in her mind that she was his family. 

Hermione, however, did not know what to make of James Potter. Never in her life had she been bombarded with such energy, enthusiasm, and candor. He bulldozed into her rooms on the second day of her confinement, and from then, she had not a moment’s peace. 

'You're awake, cousin!' James cried, bounding into the room Hermione was staying in at Potter Manor, not bothering to knock, and throwing himself down on the end of the bed.

Hermione gasped at the intrusion, her body stilling and her hands slowly pulling up the covers around her. She had been pretending to be asleep for days. Confronting Harry's Father in this timeline was such a heartbreaking prospect that she wasn't sure if she could withstand it. James had sat by her sleeping form and prattled on about his thoughts, observations and commentary on everything from Quidditch to Politics, seemingly unconcerned about her unconsciousness. Initially, she was overwhelmed, but it helped that his voice was so very different to Harry's. It was open, joyful and guileless.

Still, opening her eyes and being assaulted by those bespectacled eyes, strong jaw, and untamable hair had her reeling all over again. She could feel her heart tearing, the pressure in her chest too much for her to speak. All she could do was nod.  

'You look a bit peaky,' he commented lightly. 'I'll get Poppy to get us some tea and biscuits...'

'That's quite alright...' Hermione started, reluctant to have the Potter Elf run around for her even more. 

James battered her concerns away with his hand. 'Poppy!' 

'Yes, Master,' an amenable Elf answered as she apparated into the room. 

'My cousin would like some tea. And bring us the good biscuits, will you?' 

The Elf nodded happily and apparated away. 

'So America, huh? I've always wanted to go, but Mother's a stickler for staying in England over the holidays, and Father can never get away from work. I heard they Play Quadpot, is that right?' 

Hermione could only nod, taking the tea from Poppy, sensing she wouldn't get a word in edgeways even if she wanted to.

'Always wanted to play! The league is so small here. It's all about Quidditch. I can't complain, though; I wouldn't swap Quiddich for the world. Do you play?' 

Hermione shook her head violently. 'Absolutely not.' 

James laughed. 'We'll make a fan of you yet. There's loads we need to get you up to speed with. I'll have to tell you about Hogwarts, of course; what do you know already?'

'I've read Hogwarts: a History...' 

'Poor you,' James said sympathetically. 'There's much more to it than that. I'll tell you all its secrets.'

'You don't have to do that,' Hermione said. 

'Of course I do! You're family, aren't you?'

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, nodding firmly. She was a Potter now. She had to be. 

It went on like this for weeks. Questions fired at her went unanswered beyond a few breadcrumbs, and gaps in his knowledge of Hermione’s circumstances were filled with fantastical stories of James’s own making. Annoying it may be, but it was hard to truly hate James. Hermione could see that his goodness and belief in the people around him were built on strong foundations. He was worth saving. 

No matter how hard James tried to coax her out of her shell, she felt utterly detached. A numbness had settled deep in her bones, and Hermione wasn't sure she would ever feel whole again. It had started long before she arrived at this time. Little parts of her chipped away in the war until she was a shell of her former self, and now she had travelled back so far that she felt so discombobulated it was hard to believe she was even real. 

It didn't help that she was surrounded by ghosts. Those stories Hagrid, Professor Lupin and Sirius had told her and Harry about his family and their life in the 1970s were coming to life, and it was impossible for it to feel real. As she watched James play Quidditch and practice his duelling, she would stumble and have to catch her breath as visions of Harry swam in her mind. It was safer for her to stick to the library and the music rooms, where she could read or play the piano in peace. 

Still, James Potter was persistent. 

He followed her around like a lost puppy, coaxing her into academic debate and challenging her ideas about whatever book she read. This astonished her until she remembered how intelligent he must have been to have become an Animagus and produce the Marauders Map at such a young age.  

'Can we just play a little bit of chess?' he whined one afternoon when he'd grown tired of debating Transfiguration theory. 

'You have the attention span of a flea,' Hermione deadpanned. 

'Not if I'm motivated,' James smiled easily, placing a chess set in front of them.

Hermione sighed, eyeing the chess set with trepidation. 'I'm terrible at this, you know.' 

'All the more reason to learn,' he replied easily, moving his first pawn forward. 

She sighed and ordered a pawn on the other side of the set, signally for the game to begin. James was a good teacher, and she was as studious as ever. Hermione was surprised that she was better than she used to be at the game. Perhaps it was all those hours strategising with Draco, or maybe she was harder to read now. Caring less certainly was an asset, she thought idly as she took James' Queen a few hours later. 

As they finished, Euphemia Potter waltzed into the library with a kind smile. 

'It's time, my dears,' she said gently, nodding her head towards the window facing the ground, where the sun was beginning to set. 'We can't delay the ceremony any longer.'  

Hermione gulped and gave a steely nod, standing up and smoothing her robes in preparation. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, nerves zipping around her body as she contemplated what what she was about to become. A Potter. 

'You look lovely, dear,' Euphemia commented as she brushed some lint from Hermione's shoulder. 'Those Potter robes are certainly your colour. It's wonderful that we have a young witch in the family that can wear them.'

'Thank you,' Hermione whispered carefully as Euphemia steered them onto the lawns, watching James laugh with Fleamont in the distance. 'For doing this, I mean.' 

Euphemia looked at her with a guarded, serious expression. 'What will keep you safe, will keep my family safe. Therefore, you are family. You must embrace that if you are going to succeed.'

Hermione could only nod, keeping her head down and watching for roots as she stumbled through the woods at the back of the estate.

'There needs to be no doubt of your status. The sooner you are bound to us, the better,' Euphemia continued.  

Euphemia guided her to the clearing. It was the site of all Potter rituals for generations, from blessings to weddings to funerals. An intricately carved stone altar sat on the edge, and a low bonfire had been built in the middle, with a large iron bracket placed over it and a cauldron hanging off it. Three Potters and Hermione took their place in a circle surrounding it.

'Shall we begin?' Fleamont asked, his eyes soft as he eyed his wife. 

Euphemia smiled and squeezed her husband's hand. 

Fleamont pointed his wand at the bonfire and cast fire onto it. The Potters began to chant a slow, solemn melody. Hermione was entranced as Fleamont began his work, casting spells into the flames, taking ingredients from the ritual altar, and carefully placing them in the cauldron. The winds whipped around the space, sending a whistling sound on the breeze as the trees swayed gently. Hermione swore she could hear gentle whispers, which seemed to encourage Fleamont in his work. She had never experienced anything like it. 

Her spine tingled, and her eyes widened as the flames rose higher, the cauldron now bubbling gently. The chanting grew stronger, and Fleamont summoned the ceremonial knife, closing his eyes as he pierced the skin of his finger and slowly dropped his blood into the cauldron. His blood would bind her.

The Hermione of old would have been appalled. Everything she had learnt told her that Blood Magic was dark and would twist the caster in some cruel and unnatural way. This didn't feel dark, though. The pressure in her chest was building up, and her heart was swelling as she felt the Potter Family Magic swirl around them. It was light, protective and thoroughly good. 

Fleamont passed Hermione the knife, and as she took it, she felt the significance. This was Harry's family, adopting her and making her their own. As she sunk the knife into her skin and dropped her blood into the cauldron, her heart ripped a bit more. What would Harry think if he could see her now? He had always felt like a brother to her, and the thought of being so close to his family was too much for her broken heart to bear. Her heart was pounding wildly, and she couldn't help the single tear that ran down her cheek. She hadn't felt anything for months, perhaps years now, and it was overwhelming to have so much emotion flood her senses.  

The chanting reached a crescendo, and the potion bubbled furiously. Fleamont summoned a ceremonial cup from the altar to scoop out the potion, casting cooling charms. He passed it to Hermione and encouraged her to drink it. 

Hermione took a deep breath and gently sipped the potion. It felt thick as she swallowed it, tasting earthy and a little metallic but otherwise surprisingly palatable. The warmth that flooded through her body took her breath away. She watched as the Potters sipped on the potion in turn, and then Fleamont cast the final spell. Sharp tingles spread from her head to her toes, and zips of energy burst through her as her body flooded with familial magic. She collapsed onto the floor, panting wildly, trying to process the changes to her magical core. 

Euphemia placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. 'Just breathe, sweetheart.' 

Hermione did her best to comply. She closed her eyes and took long, deep breaths until her heart rate slowed. 

'Welcome to the family, daughter,' Fleamont said kindly, offering her his hand.

She took it gladly, leaning on her adopted family as they guided her back to the Manor.

That night, she fell into a restless slumber, dreaming of her former life, her Muggle parents, her first experiences of magic, and the orphan boy she met at Hogwarts who wormed his way into her heart. Piercing green eyes, soft smiles and the never ending warmth of friendship. Her Harry. Lost to the sands of time, destined to always be the boy who did not live. 

 

.......

 

Fleamont spent afternoons that followed revealing the secrets of the spells passed through generations, long-forgotten tricks and safeguards that made the family such a formidable force in the Wizarding World. This knowledge was fascinating for Hermione, who had grown up in a Muggle household in her former life. 

Her former self would be appalled, but she understood more and more why Purebloods claimed superiority - there was so much that Hogwarts did not teach, and therefore, she would never have had access to as a Muggle-born. Draco's smug face popped into her mind at the thought of how much she'd changed. Hermione didn't know if she really had it in her to be as ruthlessly pragmatic as he wanted her to be.

Only time would tell.

In the meantime, she spent hours in the Potter library, absorbing all the books she hadn’t yet read, primarily about Familial Magic, the Dark Arts, and American Wizarding Culture, to help with her backstory, telling herself it was all part of the plan. 

It was one thing to have this crazy plan. It was quite another to live it. She still stiffened whenever James entered the room, the ghost of her former best friend looming over her. She would close her eyes for a moment, listening to James' inane chatter, so different from Harry's quiet contemplation, and try to remain grounded. The year was 1976. James was her cousin. She was a Potter now.

She felt much more comfortable around Euphemia. Her soft maternal instinct relaxed Hermione, and her advice prepared her to face her new life head-on.

'Are you Occulding, dear?' Euphemia asked Hermione gently as they sat in the music room one bright July afternoon. 

Hermione finished playing Claire De Lune and sighed. 'Yes,' she answered honestly. 'I had to learn it during my war and find it hard not to anymore.' 

Euphemia hummed. 'That must be difficult. I hope that when you get more comfortable here, you can let your guard down.'

'Having my guard up is the only way this crazy plan has a chance,' Hermione said softly.  

Euphemia gave a sad sort of smile. 'Well, it will be useful when we introduce you to society, I suppose. Less so for playing Debussy...' 

'I'm not sure music should be my priority...'

'Nonsense!' Euphemia scolded. 'You clearly love it, and you have to find some moments of joy here. You've been sent by Morgana herself to ensure our line survives, so I absolutely insist on it...' 

Hermione began to protest again, but they were both distracted by the sound of a crash in the Floo Parlour. 

Hermione peered towards the door, spying a tall, lean figure dusting off his Muggle jeans. His back was turned, but the unmistakable head of glossy black curls gave him away. Sirius Black.

Hermione gulped, straightening her back and steeling herself.

As he whipped his head around, he caught her gaze, his eyes twinkling with interest. A slow, lazy smile uncurled on his face. It reminded Hermione of a predator about to catch his prey. 

'Are you okay, dear?' Euphemia whispered to Hermione. 'You look like you've seen a ghost...'

Momentarily dumbstruck, Hermione could not think of a word to say. She hadn’t yet considered that she would come face to face with all the young Marauders, especially in the prime of their looks and charm.

When Hermione first met Sirius all those years ago, she had to listen to Harry rave about his personality, and Ginny swoon over his looks. Hermione was immune. She had seen nothing but a broken man, fiercely loyal and prone to lashing out. To say they had clashed would be an understatement. 

Her heart beat wildly now, cheeks flushed and breathing erratic. This boy was full of life, vigour and spectacularly whole. He didn’t look broken or full of burning wrath. 

He was still dangerous, though. Warning signs flashed in her head at the sight of those sharp cheekbones, impossibly long eyelashes and the glint in his eye - Hermione was no longer unaffected.  

Sirius’s soft grey eyes twinkled merrily as she tried to hide her reaction. The absolute cad.

Hermione shot him with her most haughty expression. She had to remind herself of who she was and what she was here to do. Of all the emotions that could possibly come flooding back to her, lust was the least helpful.

She was Hermione Potter. She was here to end Voldemort. She was nobody's prey. 

 

......

 

Sirius's morning had been hell.

His Mother had found another poor Pureblood Heiress to try and betroth him to, despite his best efforts to put off the whole of the Sacred 28 with his antics. He hadn't considered that she would look further afield. A mean-looking German Heiress had been presented to him without warning, and he had been expected to play the dutiful heir. 

Sometimes, Sirius wondered what planet his mother was on. Of course, he wasn't going to comply. What had he ever done to give her the impression that he would? Nothing she could do would compel him. He endured tongue lashings and restrictions on his allowance and was even getting better at stoically enduring the hexes she sent his way. 

Still, Walburga Black managed to scream the house down when she found out what he had done. Perhaps she'd been lulled into a false sense of security with his malicious compliance.

But seriously, who in their right mind would let Sirius give a sheltered Pureblood a tour of their house? He was obviously going to head straight for his room. The look on the girl's face when she'd seen his decorations was priceless. Clearly, Muggles in bikinis weren't all the rage in Bavaria. 

After the traumatised girl had whispered to her Mother, and then swiftly bundled through the Floo, the wrath of Walburga was set loose. For the best part, Sirius could block it out, but still, her ravings gave him an almighty headache. 

There was only one thing for it when his family were being so ridiculous. He had to see James. No one could cheer him up quite like his best friend- the best Wizard he had ever known.

And so when Walburga aimed her next hex, he made a run for it, throwing his body through the Floo and calling out Potter Manor, then swiftly dusting himself off and searching for his best friend.

He followed the sounds of the Piano to the music room, gaping with shock to find the most beautiful brown eyes he’d ever seen staring back at him defiantly.

Uncharacteristically stunned, he surveyed the Witch in front of him's bruised skin and multiple scars. 

He heard about her, of course. James excited rabblings via owl about his long-lost cousin from the Americas, but he hadn't expected this.

Sirius, with his experience of abuse in his household, knew the pain that might lie behind those scars. James’ cousin was a kindred spirit.

He took a moment to take her in, lingering on her wild curls, full lips, and slim form, and then rallied.

Springing into action, he swooped down to kiss a teary-eyed Euphemia on the cheek. ‘Oh Mrs. Potter, there’s no need for tears, your favourite adopted son returns!’ He teased with dramatic flair. 

Euphemia's bright laughter sang loudly, returning the kiss and softly surveying her son’s best friend. She scruntinised him openly, probably clocking his weight loss and the way his arms shook almost imperceptibly. For Euphemia Potter was no fool. She knew the signs of the Cruciatus curse. Frowning momentarily, she eventually hummed, most likely satisfied that he was still whole. 

‘May I present Miss Hermione Potter, our new daughter,’ Euphemia said formally, placing a hand on Hermione’s shoulder and squeezing to reassure her. 

Sirius bowed theatrically and gave a flirtatious wink.

Euphemia laughed again. ‘I wouldn’t let Fleamont see that sort of display. He is quite protective, you know,’ she scolded. 

‘I will not need any protection, I assure you,’ Hermione Potter hissed quietly. 

Sirius’s answering smirk was a sight to behold. She had thrown down the gauntlet.

There was nothing he liked more than a challenge. 

Chapter 4: Prologue iv

Hermione's adjustment to this new time was disorientating. Beyond the obvious timeline of important events that she would need to get a grip on, adjusting to the subtle differences in speech, dress, and social grace that needed to be observed. 

Hermione didn’t know who she was here and how she was supposed to just be. She was no longer the idealist witch who entered the Wizarding World so full of bravery, light, and feeling like she knew it all. War had hardened her and taught her that she knew nothing. She still had a zeal for change, but she would do almost anything now to achieve it. Pragmatism, cunning and cool detachment were essential for her survival and that of the whole Wizarding World. 

Which meant that she had to be very careful with the Potters. They were too warm, too giving - far too much like everyone she had ever known and loved. Hermione could not fall into the depths of the comfort blanket they were offering. To do so would be to open up the floodgates for a barrage of emotions that would destabilise her entire plan. 

Wherever she could, she sought solitude. Slowly, she began to go beyond the walls of Potter Manor, first into the Muggle villages surrounding the Kent estate, and then afterwards to Wizarding London, where Euphemia opened a Gringotts account and furnished her with a wardrobe and school supplies. It had been agreed that she would enrol in Hogwarts the following term, and there was much to be done to prepare. 

She gave James just enough of a slice of her time to keep him on side. After all, he was a fountain of knowledge of the school, most of which Hermione knew, but it didn’t hurt to have a reason for knowing the castle’s secrets. Just like Draco had trained her to do, she soaked up the subtle details of the social dynamics at play, who were the main movers and shakers with influence, and whose talents were worth cultivating. 

Now came the hard part. 

Laying down the cover story and setting the foundations for the success of her mission involved a careful entry into Wizarding society. As a supposed American Witch from a reclusive family, she would be an anomaly, and making connections would be challenging. She was, however, a Potter now, and that name carried significant weight, especially with the backing of Euphemia (a former Selwyn) and the social grace of a lady that Hermione brought with her. 

For all her parents were Muggles, they were also brought up in Upper Middle-Class circles - she’d learnt grace and deportment at her mother’s knee. She was not naturally stylish or political enough for Pureblood Society, but at least she had always done well in forming connections in stiffer, more controlled circumstances. 

Hermione had begun to do something she'd never done before in her life: spend time in front of a mirror. In part, it was to make sure she fit in with Draco's exacting standards for her looking the part of a Pureblood Witch. But it was also to steel herself for what was to come.

She stood staring dispassionately at her appearance, trying to see herself through dispassionate eyes. She had good bone structure, she supposed; Lavender had always told her that. She knew her teeth were excellent. Her Muggle parents wouldn't have it any other way. But there was grooming to be done; her eyebrows needed shaping, her curls needed to be tamed, and she needed to apply all those layers of makeup Draco had insisted on.

It was armour, Draco had told her. Apply the warpaint, and get ready to do battle. Every look, move and word would be scrutinised, and she needed to think about how each got her closer to her goals. It was such an unnatural way of being, so at odds with the freedom she had lived by all her life.   

Still, if Draco, the Potters and even god-forbid, Dumbledore, believed in her, she had to believe in herself. For her plan to work, she needed to become a chameleon. She would do everything in her power to be accepted by those who used to hate her. 

 

..............

 

Despite the incredulous pleas of James Potter to avoid ‘those bores’ at the annual garden party at the Bones family estate, Euphemia and Hermione were all set to attend. 

Clad in the latest dress robes, they landed through the Floo of the old Bones Manor and were carefully escorted into the beautiful grounds by a diminutive house elf. Hermione took a deep breath, pulled down her Occulmancy walls and locked them tight, carefully surveying her surroundings. Perfectly carved ice foundations dotted the ground, sculpted with tableaus of slowly moving unicorns. It was ridiculously ostentatious for old Hermione's tastes. Somehow she managed to keep her expression blank and not let her distaste show.

Madam Bones held court at the centre table, and Euphemia made a beeline to her, eager to introduce her new ward. 

‘Effie, so good to see you! You’ve outdone yourself,’ Euphemia praised as she kissed Madam Bones gently on each cheek. She gestured to Hermione. ‘May I present my ward, Miss Hermione Potter.’

Hermione bowed politely, keeping her gaze low in respect. 

‘Well, well, Euphemia, where have you been hiding this one?’ Madam Bones replied, openly scrutinising Hermione. 

‘She has recently arrived from the Americas, Effie,’ Euphemia explained. ‘A cousin on Fleamont's side. Her immediate family are unfortunately no longer with us, and I’m happy to say she was formally adopted by myself and Fleamont and means to make her mark in society.’ 

Madam Bone’s gaze did not falter. Hermione bit her tongue and kept her thoughts to herself. 

‘Her background?’ 

Euphemia knew what the question was, of course. Even though now the Potter magic had accepted her in this time, she bristled uncomfortably nonetheless.

Hermione tried to school her reaction, she really did. Still, the bile rose in her throat, the ghost of injustice rearing its ugly head at exactly the wrong moment. Luckily, Madam Bones wasn't looking in her direction for the brief moment defiance shot across her face, before she dampened it down, pulling her Occulmancy Walls tighter. By the time the older Witch's gaze passed back to her, she appeared to be the model of passive elegance. 

Euphemia spoke decisively. ‘She is a Potter on her father’s side. Her mother traced her lineage to the Delacour line on the French side.’

Madam Bones hmph'd gently. ‘Tea, Miss Potter?’ she offered politely. 

The test had been passed.

‘I thank you, yes,’ Hermione replied as demurely as she could, hoping it would be enough. 

She took the teacup and sipped carefully, eyeing the surrounding tables with interest. Euphemia guided them to a nearby table, where she introduced her sister-in-law, Edwina Selwyn and her daughter Lilliana, Helena Prewitt, and finally, Druella Black and her daughter Narcissa. Polite, if guarded, nods followed, thawing slightly once full introductions had been made. 

'Would you care for some tea, Miss Potter?' Edwina Selwyn asked politely. 'Please don't tell us your a fan of coffee.' 

'Not at all,' Hermione promised. 'I grew up on Earl Grey.'

'I'm glad to hear some American Witches have taste,' Edwina nodded with approval. 

'I have much to learn about British customs,' Hermione replied modestly, delicately sipping her tea. 'My Aunt has been gracious in getting me up to speed.' 

Druella Black narrowed her eyes at Euphemia. 'Be sure to be careful of your sources, Miss Potter. You must learn the old ways if you truly wish to fit in here,' she said cuttingly. 

'Hermione is an eager scholar with an open mind, I assure you,' Euphemia snapped back.   

Druella merely hummed sceptically in response. 

The older witches picked up the conversation from there, Lilliana’s forthcoming nuptials to Tiberius Nott dominating. Euphemia had informed Hermione that it was an excellent match by Pureblood standards. It was clear that her mother was ecstatic, but Lilliana seemed reticent. Hermione tried to school her features so she didn’t give away her concern. Lilliana had a sweet demeanour, and Hermione could see how a strong character like Tiberius Nott might not suit her, especially with all she knew about his later cruelty as a Death Eater and father.  

Despite Draco's and now Euphemia’s coaching, Hermione found it hard to initiate conversation in these circumstances. Her experience in the Muggle world only got her so far; the subtle nuances were still alien to her. 

She tried to start a conversation with Narcissa on what she thought was the safe topic of gowns. Narcissa’s icy demeanour hardly thawed at Hermione tentative questioning, but her interest grew as they gradually drew the interest of the few Wizards in their vicinity. The striking pair had been noticed by the most eligible man in attendance, Edgar Bones, who recently became the head of his family. 

Edgar had little tolerance for such social events but attended them for his mother's sake. If he was going to be forced into social niceties, he would find a way to enjoy himself. The company of pretty Witches would do nicely.

He purposely strode up to Hermione and Narcissa and gave a short bow. ‘Ladies, may I tempt you with a turn about the garden?’ he said with a small smile and a twinkle in his eye.  

The duo sought agreement from their respective chaperones, who nodded in agreement. 

Hermione faltered slightly as she stood, distracted by the elegance of young Narcissa Malfoy. Draco's Mother seemed to glide so effortlessly, as if floating above the ground. It was hard not to feel like a Hippogriff in comparison. 

Edgar's appreciative gaze followed, offering both of them his hand, which Hermione took with a stilted smile. He led them on a tour of the fountains, entertaining them with tales of his misspent youth. Narcissa smiled in all the right places, but it never quite reached her eyes, and Hermione sensed that Edgar was growing weary of her icy facade.

'There is a legend about this particular fountain,' Edgar declared as he steered them towards an enclosed courtyard with an ancient-looking fountain at its centre.

'There is?’ Hermione asked. Unable to hide the scepticism in her tone. She tried to raised her brow in a manner which hope would come across as if she were channelling her inner Fleur Delacleur, knowing full well it probably wasn’t working. 'It's always interesting to hear about a Noble family's beliefs...' 

'I get the sense, Miss Potter, that you like to hear them, but that does not mean you often believe them.'  

Hermione tried to temper her natural reaction to roll her eyes. She would never be a practised flirt. There was nothing for it but to be true to herself, even if that did mean smoothing down some of her sharper edges. 'It is true. I have been gifted with a sceptical mind. But Lord Selwyn, I solemnly promise not to judge your legend before it is revealed to me...' 

'Not a Lord - yet,' he smirked, conjuring up a goblet and dipping it into the water. 'Very well, I shall humour you. It is said that if the Selwyn heir drinks the water from the same cup as a fair maiden, he will divine her true purpose in this world...' 

'Well, what fair maiden would be foolish enough to give away all her secrets in such a manner?’ Hermione gasped, mock scandalised, rasping her hands together to hide their slight shake. 

Narcissa stepped back, eyeing their volleying conversation with a certain wariness. 

Edgar laughed heartily. 'Not a Potter, apparently. I shall just have to guess your purpose, then. A quiet life in the country? To fill the world with little Witches and Witches? The pursuit of riches?'  

Hermione snorted. 'Sounds awfully mundane...'  

'Ah, you wish to change the world then? An adventurer after my own heart...' 

Hermione smiled indulgently. 'You may divine what you will. I shall content myself with living in the real world.'

'And you are all the more charming for it,' Edgar replied, taking her hand and kissing it valiantly. 

As they walked back towards the party, Narcissa gave Hermione a keen look of interest. For a fleeting moment, it almost looked like Draco's Mother was impressed with her wiles, as stilted and artless as they were. A tiny chip in the icy armour was better than nothing. 

Overall, it was a successful introduction to society.

 

................

 

Sirius Black was restless. He'd spent the day with James, but they'd run out of entertainment. 

So when both Potter women arrived back at the Manor, releasing a breath they didn't know they were holding, he saw his chance. 

He watched like a hawk as Hermione ripped off her cloak, transfigured her stiff robes to comfortable pyjamas, and released her riotous curls. They glimmered slightly in the low light, and Sirus couldn't help but think about running his hands through them.

Would they be soft and fall through his fingers like butter? Or stiff and unyielding, like her stare? His eyes watched her like a hawk, transfixed, his mind racing with thoughts of unravelling her mysteries. 

Hermione sighed deeply and flopped down on a nearby sofa in a very unladylike fashion as if she could finally breathe. 

Sirius took his chance, stalking towards her smoothy, matching her casual gait. ‘So, is my mother a fan?’ he enquired, his tone light and teasing. 

She snorted softly. ‘I didn’t have the pleasure,’ she deadpanned.

‘It would be anything but,’ he countered darkly, artfully flopping himself beside her with practised grace. ‘James is right; you would have had a lot more fun with us here. He seems to think you have a chance of beating us at Wizards Chess,’ he grinned devilishly. 

‘More than a chance,’ she shot back.

He leant in and whispered conspiratorially. ‘Alright, kitten, you’re on. Prongs! Your cousin's in for a game of chess!'

'Lady Potter,' James said with a wide grin. 'Finally, you've realised that if you can't beat them, you must join them.' 

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'We'll see.' 

Sirius sat the first game out, watching carefully as James took on his cousin. Her moves were somewhat practised, but it was still hard to tell exactly how she would move. Her face was so impassive. Sirus suspected she must be an Occulmens, probably on a par with the Blacks.

Occasionally, though, she would hint at what she might do next. A smug, cunning look would come over her just before she was about to make a big move. Her eyes danced in these moments, coming alive with promise. 

Sirius hummed with satisfaction, convinced he had the keys to best her. So when he took to the board for the next match, he was surprised to find her play had switched up completely.

'You look a little confused,' she said lightly as she took his Rook.

He narrowed his eyes at her, giving her a sly grin, taking her Rook in quick succession. 'Not at all, kitten. I happen to like a bit of unpredictability...' 

'I suspect it's hard to hold your interest for long,' she said darkly.

'She's got you there, mate,' James laughed wryly. 

Sirius gasped in mock offence. 'I'm as loyal as a dog, aren't I?' 

'I do apologise, you two make a lovely couple...' Hermione deadpanned, making a move with her knights Sirius hadn't seen before.  A fast learner and, even better, a creative one.

Sirius sighed, impressed, moving his Queen into a position where he suspected he would best her soon enough. 'Alas, this one's heart is already taken...'

James snorted beside him. 

Hermione gave a wistful smile, which almost looked painful. Sirius frowned, distracted by the emotion written across her face. He wanted to smooth her brow and take that pain away for some strange reason. 

'Ah yes, the lovely Lily. I've not stopped hearing about her...' Hermione said lightly as she moved her Knight to take his Queen.

Sirius stared in open-mouthed shock at her triumphant grin. How had he not seen that she would do that? 

'Ha!' James cried gleefully. 'Now, you've met your match!'

Sirius was entranced.

That evening, he had to hold himself back from openly flirting with her several times, which was very unlike him. Still, she was his best friend's new sister for all intents and purposes. Some codes couldn’t be broken. 

 

................

 

Hermione's final surprise of the summer came in the mild-mannered form of Remus Lupin. 

'Hello,' came the soft, polite of her former Professor as he stepped into the library one bright morning. 

Hermione tried not to let her shock show, noting the weariness in his tone and how his body seemed to fold into himself. His expression was guarded, and her heart a little broke a little at the sight.

Here was the man she had respected so much as an adult for his gentleness and intelligence, now just a broken boy. 

'You must be Remus,' she said gently. 'I hear you're the only one who can keep my new brother in line.' 

'Hardly,' he snorted, stepping further into the library so the sunlight streaming from the window hit him. His silvery scars glistened in the early morning light. This probably made him look dangerous to others, but Hermione only saw the pain behind them. 

A soft rattle came from the back of the stacks, and both whipped their heads around, expressions of mild concern mirrored in their faces. 

Remus turned towards her, his body still held taught but his chin high and brow raised in question.

'I think it's a boggart,' Hermione said simply, trying to keep her expression and her tone as neutral as possible.

Remus hummed. 'What makes you think that?' he replied sceptically, his eyes boring into hers. Hermione felt he stripping her down the bone with his gaze.

She shrugged nonchalantly. 'That cupboard's the right sort of environment - dark, damp, old. The way it's shaking - I've seen it before.'

'You've tackled a boggart?' he asked surprised. 

'I had an old teacher who was keen on hands-on learning,' she replied, her voice breaking slightly, unable to help the wry smile on her face at the serendipity of this conversation. 'Best teacher I ever had.'

'So, are you planning on taking on this one?' he replied, leaning back slightly so he perched on the back of an armchair. 

Hermione couldn't help but wince. 'No, I don't think that would be wise.'

'Can I ask why not?' 

'I think my boggart might be frightening to more than myself,' she said darkly, her voice breaking slightly and a shiver running down her spine. Possibilities ran through her mind, almost too horrible to consider. She cleared her throat and tried for a lighter tone. 'Besides, I wouldn't want to deny James the chance to show off..'

Remus's eyes lightened, and his shoulder sagged. 'No, I imagine he'd never forgive us for that.' 

Hermione gave him a tentative smile. 'I apologise in advance. You'll probably have to hear the thrilling tale of his banishment of a historic Quidditch loss for the Gryindor team...' 

Remus snorted. 'I think it's more likely to be something to do with Lily, to be honest.' 

'Ah, yes, the famous Miss Evans. It will be hard for her to live up to my expectations.' 

'She is only human,' Remus agreed, absentmindly scratching the fraying sleeves of his jumper. 'But I hope you give her a chance when you get to Hogwarts.'

'I will,' she promised gently.

They spoke politely about Hogwarts, their upcoming classes, and the books they loved, slowly finding common ground over the following weeks.

Spending time with him was like a warm, comforting blanket, and it was hard not to gravitate towards him, no matter how wary and insecure he initially seemed.

They were early in their tentative friendship, though.

Hermione was aware of the many secrets they were holding close to their chests. She hesitated to get in too deep before they returned to Hogwarts, where new lines would be drawn, and tentative alliances may not survive. 

Chapter 5: ACT I: HOGWARTS

On the morning of September 1st, James Potter was all a flutter.

Hermione barely listened to her adopted brother, basking in the surreal experience of entering platform 9 and 3/4s.

A cacophony of sensations hit her: the sharp whistle of the train, the chatter of excited students and the smell and sight of steam billowing over the crowds. In many ways, it was the same she remembered; wizarding fashion moved slower, and only the longer hair and clothes of muggle-born students stood out.

She took a deep breath and allowed the overwhelming feeling of deja vu to wash over, giving herself a moment just to feel.

It was fleeting. She pulled her Occulmency walls down again, steeling herself for what would come.

This was it. The real game had started. 

James' excitement seemed to peak as they skipped down the platform. He bounced up and down on his heels, scanning the crowds for his friends and lecturing Hermione on all the pertinent points he felt would ensure her success. ‘... it has to be Gryffindor, of course; that’s the most important thing. Then we can take care of you,’ he ordered. 

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, pulling James back to stare at him intently. ‘What if it’s not Gryffindor?’ she implored. ‘I’m not like you, James. I’m not brave in the same way. I’m clever. I’m ambitious. Connections matter to me.’

James scoffed. ‘Well, that sounds distinctly green, and there’s no way you’re a snake…’ 

Hermione raised his eyebrows at him and watched uncertainty creep onto his face. 

They were interrupted by the sounds of James’s fellow Marauders jumping on his back and raining him with good-natured punches.

Hermione held back a smile that drained from her face as she was confronted by a shy-looking Peter Pettigrew. He looked so small and meek compared to his friends. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, her brow furrowing as she tried to work out how this nondescript boy had ripped so many lives apart.

Hermione caught Remus giving her a strange look and remembered herself, schooling her features. She gave him a strained but polite nod.

Hermione knew she had to escape quickly while James was still distracted. She noticed the stares of crowds upon them all and carefully disengaged herself from the group. Her plan was to carve a name for herself independently of her cousin. Head held high, she glided confidently down the platform and onto the train, finding a quiet carriage away from the crowds and sitting down with a sigh. 

If lucky, she'd get a few hours of rest before the hard work began. She didn't imagine anyone of note would enter the carriage, but fate was on her side that day.  

As the train pulled out of the station, the door of her carriage opened dramatically, and a hook nose peered into it with disdain. Hermione raised her eyebrows in challenge to an unmistakably young version of Severus Snape. 

Hermione was struck by the cold arrogance of his stare, which had never left him. As the memories of his cruel taunts on her lack of talent over the years washed over her, it was hard not to shrink instinctively.

Anger, though, was the dominant emotion coursing through her at his failure as a responsible adult. Despite how much she had changed, her heart was still as fierce as a lion, and the magic of her new family now ran through her veins. Hermione Potter would not be cowered. 

A soft sigh from behind Snape interrupted their standoff.

‘Come on, Sev, this will do,’ a harassed Lily Evans encouraged him. 

Stepping into the carriage, Lily's soft red hair caught the sunlight beaming through the windows, a sparkling halo on her head.

Immediately, Hermione felt the adrenaline leave her body and warmth flooded through her. Those eyes. The ghost of Harry stared back at her, her best friend, her safe harbour against almost all storms. 

Lily pursed her lips briefly, then smiled softly at Hermione and held out her hand. ‘You’re new here?’ she asked kindly. 

Hermione piled boxes within boxes within her mind, shutting out the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, nodding back with a polite smile.

‘Lily Evans. I’m a prefect, so let me know if I can help you settle in’. 

Severus rolled his eyes affectionately at Lily.

Hermione shook her hand softly, taking Lily in, trying not to betray that, yet again, her heart was caught in her throat. She tried to dispassionately assess her preppy clothes, milky white skin and gleaming hair, but more importantly, the openness of her countenance and the softness of her expression. It was clear why James was so taken with her. Her beauty went beyond skin deep; her goodness shone through. 

‘Hermione Potter,’ she stated, raising her brows playfully. ‘But I’m hoping you don’t hold my name against me.’

It took a beat for a shocked Lily to respond graciously. ‘Not at all. You will have to excuse me, though; I do have to head to the prefect's carriage. I’ll be back soon, Sev.’

Snape scoffed, billowingly out his cape and sitting down with a dramatic flourish, clearly unimpressed that he would be left with a Potter.

The staring contest that followed went on for quite some time. That dispassionate gaze Hermione had known so well in her school days was already well-developed. Fathomless, beady black eyes bore into her, giving away nothing of their desires or intent. 

This Hermione could handle. There was none of the emotion attached to her other 'reunions' she had with old acquaintances, merely mild interest.

She was not about to lose this chance. This is what Draco had trained her for: mind games with Slytherins. She wasn't naive enough to think she knew the boy before her, but she now had the advantage. Severus Snape had weaknesses she could exploit. 

The impasse was broken as Severus huffed and pulled a theoretical book, ‘The Art of Poisons,’ from his bag, pointedly ignoring her presence. 

Hermione left a couple of moments of silence before she passed comment. ‘If you have plans for my cousin, I assure you I won’t stand in your way’.

Severus’s eyes shot up and narrowed, regarding her carefully. 

Hermione couldn't practically feel the disdain dripping from him, directed at her so sharply; it would make a lesser witch cower. Nevertheless, she continued in as snotty a tone as she could manage.  ‘I’m not a fan of Hestula’s work. His poisons are far too showy to be effective. The antidotes are always too easily found.’ Pulling out an obscure second edition of ‘Poisons Most Foule’ from her extendable bag, she continued. ‘The classics are always the best’.

Severus's eyebrow arched in response. It was a calculated move. The book was full of Dark Magic, setting her firmly apart from the reputation of the Potters, who were seen as agents for the light. 

At that moment, the carriage door opened again, bringing the most Noble and Ancient House of Black with it.

The regal form of Narcissa Black entered first, smiling gently at Severus in greeting and nodding politely as she spotted Hermione’s form. Cool grey eyes followed. Regulus Black's lean, wiry frame entered behind her, his intense gaze scrutinising Hermione’s face, demeanour, and the book in her hand. If he was surprised, he didn’t let it show. 

‘Miss Potter, I believe,’ Regulus bowed stiffly.

Hermione nodded carefully in response. She was the subject of gossip and speculation then. The Blacks wouldn't be silly enough to give away anything, though.

‘You are needed, Severus,’ Regulus said, staring at Snape intensely. 

With that, the Slytherins swept away, leaving Hermione alone to ponder the success of the encounter.

It has not been a failure, at least. The wall of hostility was expected, and Draco had warned to steel herself for it. Hermione would have to endure and seek rare opportunities to crack such well-established relationships.

She knew Draco's theories by heart.

In practice, though, it was much harder. Despite her numbness from the war, she still felt the slight sting of rejection. It was hard not to panic when the stark reality of how much luck she would need to make this work hit her like a freight train.

Perhaps she had arrived too late to make a difference?

Only time would tell. 

 

...........

 

It was hard to be dignified when following a gaggle of excited first years into the Great Hall for the second time. Hermione was grateful for the ridiculous deportment training Draco had insisted upon, which allowed her to glide into the room, her head held high and her bored expression firmly plastered on her face. 

Gazes across the room followed her with open curiosity, leaving a trail of whispers in her wake. She was finally healthy; her residual scars were hidden behind the strongest glamours she knew. To all in the Great Hall, she was a shiny new toy. 

She caught the eyes of the Marauders holding court at the Gryffindor table, James beaming and giving her a thumbs up. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a slight smirk upturning on her face. Remus’s gaze was soft and warm, and Sirius burned with intensity. It made her catch her breath and turn away.

She schooled her features again to one of bored detachment. 

When her name was called, the whispers grew louder. Potter was an old name, and everyone knew James. The Ravenclaws looked less hopeful, and Slytherins glared with cool disdain. 

Hermione was careful to appear completely unaffected as she daintily perched on the stool, unimpressed with the musty smell of the Sorting Hat as it was placed on her head. Now came the hard part. 

‘Ah, it seems I have known you. And yet, I know I have not. You were a Gryffindor once, but that was a lifetime ago or a lifetime away. It is hard to know. You know what you want now, though, it seems. Well, that will be a challenge… You are both Potter and Muggle-born. What would Salazar think? He is not one for compromise…’

Hermione had one shot at this, and she couldn’t afford to waste it. She had spent months trying to crack what seemed impossible: to learn Parseltongue. Slowly and quietly, she hissed out the words, ‘I am a snake. You will put me in Slytherin’. It was not a perfect translation, but she prayed to Merlin that it was enough.

Her voice was not loud enough to hear, but she eyed Regulus Black in the crowd; his strong, dark brows furrowed as he scrutinised what she was doing. Good. She didn’t mind if he clocked her. 

The hat spluttered and, most alarmingly, began to smoke. Just when Hermione thought she might need to pull it off her head, lest her hair caught alight, the hat finally sputtered out; 

‘Slytherin!’ 

Silence rang through the hall, and students and teachers alike sat dumbstruck. Hermione nonchalantly dusted off her robes and glided towards the Slytherin table.

On her way, It was hard to ignore the look of complete shock from James Potter, who looked as if his whole worldview had been shaken. Remus's expression gave away mild concern, and she raised a wry eye at him, softening it slightly.

It was Sirius’s hurt look that shook her. His strong brow furrowed so deeply that the ghost of his older self seemed to appear. The anger rolling off him in waves felt like it passed through her, pulling Hermione deep into the ocean so she could barely breathe.

She had disappointed many people in her life, but none so viscerally as the elder Black brother. 

There was nothing to be done but move forward. Her place in the world was set now, where Draco had insisted it needed to be. The snakepit. 

A wide chasm parted at the end of the Slytherin table, allowing her to slip into a space between the older students. She sat down as gracefully as she could and nodded politely to her shocked surrounding housemates, curiosity, suspicion, and disgust radiating off them. She bore them no mind, concentrating on the hall around her, eyeing it with mild disdain.

Dumbledore approached the table tentatively and held out his hand to Hermione. ‘Your wand, Miss Potter.’ 

She glared at him with pure disdain, held her head high, and carefully handed it over. Her effect on the Sorting Hat had not gone unnoticed by the staff then, and Dumbledore was playing his part.

She did not mind. As a child of war, she had two other wands on her person if needed - one strapped to her leg and one transfigured into an earring.  

‘Treat it carefully, if you please,’ she replied haughtily.

Dumbledore nodded and took his leave. ‘Let the feast begin!’  he shouted out to the room, clapping his hands together. As his hands clapped, the tables filled with the welcoming feast, food piled high on every table.

Hermione was brutally aware that first impressions mattered. Although she knew it would take a lot of groundwork for her plan to succeed, now was her chance to show that she was a Pureblood Witch and someone worthy of their notice. Draco's lessons needed to come into play. Hermione eyed the heavy food distastefully and tutted somewhat dramatically. ‘Is this what passes for a feast in this country?’ she said to no one in particular. 

‘What kind of nonsense do you eat in America, then?’ a defensive Rabastan Lestrange challenged her. 

Hermione hit him with a death stare. ‘Nothing but French food, like any civilized household,’ she replied, an air of disdain clear in her voice. ‘The Elves passed down through my mother’s line to see that. Bouillabaisse, Niçoise, Cassoulet, anything would be better than this gloop…’

Narcissa sighed as she scooped up a single roast potato. ‘It is ridiculously heavy. They ought to fire the Elves’. 

Pernilla Parkinson shot Narcissa an angry stare, but Narcissa merely shrugged. There was no denying the food lacked sophistication.  

‘Or chop off their heads. Isn’t that right, Narcissa?’ fired back Titus Nott, a smug grin on his chiselled face. His broad form dominated the table, but it was not just his stature that made Hermione's eyes gravitate towards him. He had an air of charisma around him that made it clear he was one to watch. 

The surrounding Slytherins let out a huffed laughter, and Hermione couldn’t help but smirk. Titus’s eyes sparkled with what might have been the beginnings of approval. Hermione knew she had a long way to go, though.  

‘I can’t see the Potters letting you discipline your Elves properly,’ the disbelieving voice of Rabaston Lestrange fired at Hermione. 

‘My adopted family and I disagree on many things,’ Hermione said lightly, scoping out a small portion of vegetables. 

Rabaston looked unconvinced, but it was Winston Goyle who broke their standoff. ‘Potters are Blood Traitors,’ he spat venomously.

Hermione kept her voice low and calm. ‘Who are you?’ 

Goyle puffed up with indignation. ‘I’m a Goyle! That means something here, you traitorous bitch! My blood runs purer than yours ever will be, my magic goes back generations, you wouldn’t even…’ 

Hermione cut him off then, tapping her finger lightly and almost imperceptibly on the table to send a silencing spell directly at him. Wandless magic had become her speciality, for necessity during the war, but now apparently for party tricks. Goyle's face grew redder and redder as he began to splutter, trying desperately to get his words out but failing. 

Hermione did not break eye contact, took a deep breath, and prepared herself to play the role she needed to survive. Draco's voice rang through her ears. 'You've always been a vicious thing when you're riled up. Use that. They'll respect you for it. Try to sound like me if you can't think of anything else.'

Her voice came out as a low growl as she stared the spluttering Wizard down. ‘You have no idea what you're talking about. What magic do you have that you would sit here spluttering in front of me, silenced by a wandless Witch? You know nothing of the magic that runs through my veins or the power of ancient houses that you wouldn’t have the first idea of how to claim. You’re nothing, a disgrace to your noble house.’

She sighed softly and returned to her dinner, ignoring the alarmed glances of the housemates surrounding her. They had no idea what to make of her, but they would know now she was not to be trifled with. 

Chapter 6: I:I

Sirius Black couldn’t help himself.

His eyes had not left the Slytherin table since James’ cousin had been sorted.

Perhaps if he was lucky, the intensity of his gaze would set the table alight. After all, he wasn’t a stranger to accidental magic. He would happily watch those snakes go up in flames, he thought, stabbing his chicken thigh with a fork.

‘I think your dinner’s already dead,’ Remus said mildly, raising a wry eyebrow at his friend. ‘I don’t think you need to continue to stab it.’ 

Sirius narrowed his eyes and huffed dramatically, slumping down into the chair. 

‘Something on your mind, Pads?’ Remus asked, unperturbed.

Sirius turned to James and spoke directly to him in a sharp, unforgiving tone. ‘Are we not going to do something about that?’ pointing his knife directly at Hermione at the Slytherin table. 

James replied with a deep sigh.

’What can be done, Pads?’ stuttered Peter nervously. ‘No one can change the sorting hat…’ 

‘Well, maybe they should,’ Sirius snapped petulantly. ‘Nobody deserves to be living with a vicious nest of snakes. Least of all her...’ 

He immediately regretted the harshness of his tone when he saw James wince. His puppy dog eyes were full of pain. Sirius never could resist his best friend when he was hurt.

‘Do you think they’d hurt her?’ James asked seriously. 

Sirius took a deep breath in, rubbing his temple. ‘I don’t know! Maybe... I don’t trust any of them, especially when the war is getting worse. Their families will be feeding them all the worst kind of drivel...’ 

‘We don’t know if any of them are involved, though,’ Peter squeaked. ‘It’s all speculation…’ 

Sirius snorted, folding his arms in defiance. ‘I think we can make an educated guess!’ 

James cut in with a broken voice. ‘Dad says she knows about the war. He’ll have warned her what to look out for... Neither of us was expecting this, though…’

Remus leaned in and replied softly. ‘James, we can keep an eye on her with the map, but I don’t think you should worry too much. From what I saw of her over the summer, she seems like she can handle herself.’

’She shouldn’t have to!’ Sirius hissed. 

‘We can’t go over there now,' Remus reasoned. 'I don’t think Dumbledore or McGonagall will forgive us. Plus, it looks like she’s got it in hand…’

The Marauders watched as a spark flashed from Hermione’s fingers, and Goyle began to choke. 

‘Bloody hell, has she silenced him wandlessly?!’ Peter choked out.

Remus raised his brow and smirked as if to say ‘see?’ 

James sighed deeply. ’I’ll find her later,’ he said in a tone that brokered no room for disagreement. ‘I’ll fix this one way or another.  Whatever it takes.’ 

 

..............

The Slytherins walked to the dungeons in stony silence. Hermione tried not to shiver as Lucius Malfoy, the Head Boy, and Carina Lestrange, a 7th-year prefect, led the way. Lucius was as imposing and haughty as she remembered him as a child, and Carina seemed to be cut from the same cloth. She took a deep breath and held her head high, reminding herself she had expected this. 

They bypassed the common room, taking Hermione directly to the 6th-year dorms, where a plain, partially broken four-poster bed was waiting for her in the corner. It was in deep contrast to the richly decorated beds of Black, Parkinson, and Patel, respectively. 

Lucius Malfoy smirked at her disdain, obnoxious as ever. ‘Sleep well, Miss Potter,’ he hissed, the threat clear in his voice.

Well, she intended to. They had another thing coming if they thought she would put up with inferior sleeping arrangements. She had a lot of experience from the war of making the best out of meagre surroundings - at least the war had given her some useful skills. Hermione set to work transfiguring the bed into a solid double frame with more luxurious hangings, bedding, and cushions than she would usually need to reflect the tastes of her new housemates. She added a desk and an oversized wardrobe, surrounding the space with bookshelves to keep prying eyes out. 

Finally, she opened her extendable truck and added her things to make it feel like a home, including her collection of dark books from the Potter Library and Knockturn Alley. That should give her housemates something to think about. 

Slicing open her hand, she chanted softly, drawing runes at four corners of the space to form watertight wards. No one was getting in and out without her permission. Happy with her handiwork, she added a sofa, chairs, and coffee table to the middle of the room, scattering a few copies of Witch Weekly and Parisian fashion magazines Draco had recommended.  

She was pretending to quietly read about the hottest young international bachelors (thinking she would have to find a way to transfigure them into something more interesting) when her fellow housemates sauntered in, trying their best to hide their surprise at the scene that greeted them.

Hermione steeled herself, straightening her back, tilting her head up high and pulling down her occulmency walls. Now came the hard part. Convincing the Sacred 28 she was one of them would mean going completely against her nature. She had to believe she could do it, though.

As they surveyed the room, Pernilla Parkinson looked appalled, Narcissa Black wary, and Parminda Patel mildly impressed. Hermione raised an eyebrow to greet them, plastering on her most haughty expression and grasping her hand on her thighs to hide their shake. 

She sized them up. How would Draco assess them? Pernilla looked like she smelt something foul. Disgust was difficult to overcome - Hermione suspected she may be a lost cause. Narcissa was giving away very little, but Draco warned her that his mother would take time to crack. In the meantime, Narcissa would go with the prevailing mood on whether Hermione was to be trusted.

Parminda was interesting. Her expression was certainly more intrigued. Hermione suspected her mind would be the easiest to crack, but as a Witch with international heritage, this wasn’t surprising. She hadn’t been playing Sacred 28 games all her life. 

‘Hogwarts has gone to the dogs,’ Pernilla muttered, trying to avoid jealousy eyeing the Parisian magazines she so clearly wanted to read.

Hermione merely smirked and ignored them, quietly continuing her reading whilst the girls unpacked and gossiped amongst themselves. 

‘You must be so proud of Lucius, Cissa,’ Pernilla fawned.

‘Yes, he does suit his Head Boy badge, doesn’t he?’ Narcissa replied smugly.  

‘Fills out his robes nicely, too,’ Parminda added, fanning herself.

‘Patel, really!’ Narcissa scoffed, scandalised. ‘He won’t have as much time this year as I’d hoped…’

‘Merlin, the way you talk, you’d think it was a love match!’ Pernilla countered, throwing her books haphazardly onto her small bookcase, googling Hermione’s superior display with loathing in her eyes. 

‘At least I have a match,’ Cissa countered slyly. 

The glare Pernilla gave off would stop lesser women in their tracks. Narcissa merely hummed to herself contentedly. Wonderful, Hermione thought, the Parkinson bitch had a weakness.  

Parminda threw herself into one of Hermione’s new armchairs dramatically. ‘I’ve got until the Cup to have my fun, and then it’s game over!’ she exclaimed.

Hermione knew this was her chance. Draco had trained her to look for small opportunities to connect, find and exploit weaknesses. Parminda reminded Hermione of a smarter, more sly version of Lavender. Given how terrible Hermione had been at connecting with Lavender in her past, this wasn't ideal, but at least she had hours of inane conversation from which she was forced to listen and draw from.

‘Are you planning a match with Vikram Choudry?’ Hermione asked as lightly as she could manage, with a twinkle in her eye, pointing at the article she was pretending to read. The article was about how Vikram, the handsome number-one Quidditch player in the Indian league, had been seen sneaking out of a palace window in Udaipur, and an unidentified Witch kissing him goodbye. It was a risky question to open with, but she hoped Parminda would see the humour in it, given how cuttingly these Witches spoke to each other. Vikram was not suitable marriage material. 

Parminda cackled wildly. ‘Now that would give my father something to think about, wouldn’t it? We’ll go with the Indian delegation. Mother says it’s matchmaking heaven. If I don’t catch a husband there, I’m doomed, apparently.’ 

A yelp interrupted them. Pernilla stood by Hermione’s bookcase, clutching her hand in agony, clearly having tried to disturb Hermione's wards. 

Hermione sighed and swiftly pulled out her wand and aimed it at the cowering girl, who looked at her like she would be hexed. Carefully, Hermione held out her other hand in a gesture of submission and healed the injury.

‘If there’s something you want of mine, Pernilla, you only have to ask,’ Hermione stated mildly. 

Pernilla huffed away, throwing herself into her bed and pulling over her covers. The other girls warily followed, and soon, they were all tucked away with the lights out.  

Hermione lay awake for what seemed like hours, listening to the gentle snores of her housemates.

She supposed that today could have gone worse, but she still couldn’t turn her brain off. It was clear that sleep would be evading her this evening.

Hermione sighed softly and pulled herself out of bed, clothing herself with a robe and slippers to ward off the chill. It would be good to walk off her worries - she had missed sneaking around the Hogwarts castle for nighttime strolls.

Hermione wandered for a while, winding her way toward the Astronomy Tower. It was so peaceful and one of her favourite spots to come and think.

Taking a seat, she stared into the Abyss of the night sky and tried not to think too hard about the enormity of the task that faced her. Baby steps, she reminded herself. It was all she could focus on if she had any chance of reaching her goal. 

A rustling behind her alerted her to the presence of another. Hermione wasn’t surprised to find James Potter sliding into the seat beside her, contemplating the vast view beyond in a comfortable silence.

Hermione took in his form, focusing on the slump of his shoulders and the wistful expression on his face. Sadness and James Potter were not comfortable bedfellows. 

‘You’re disappointed,’ Hermione stated.

‘It’s hard not to be,’ he sighed. ‘Things would have been so different if you had just…’

‘I did try and warn you. I was never going to be a Gryffindor,’ she scolded mildly.

‘But Slytherin…’ he pleaded. 

‘Ambition. Resilience. Even Cunning,’ she listed on her fingers, thinking of what the sorting hat had said to her many years ago when it contemplated if it could put her Slytherin as a Muggle-born. Ultimately, she'd coaxed him towards Gryffindor, which sounded so much more exciting to her then. Now, though, she had been twisted and shaped into someone who knew how to play with snakes. ‘That’s me, James, it’s who I am. You might not like it, but the Sorting Hat knows. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not.’ 

‘You’re not safe there…’ he whispered.

There it was. James Potter, the protector. He was so like Harry in that way. She squeezed his leg gently and rested her head on his shoulder.

‘Nobody’s safe, James, there’s a war on,’ she stated pragmatically. ‘I am more than capable of taking care of myself. They won’t break me.’

He looked appalled. ‘Why would you surround yourself with people who will try and break you, though?’   

Hermione stilled, thinking about what she could say to keep him on her side without giving away too much. 

‘I know what’s coming,’ she tried to explain, gently taking James' hand. ‘It’s not going to be easy, and it’s not going to be pretty. Wars aren’t just won on battlefields, James; they are won in the shadows. I know it makes sense to you to be in Gryffindor, fight for the ‘right’ side, the light side, but it won’t be that easy a decision for everyone. I think that’s where I belong. In the mess of it all, trying to make things a little bit better.’

He considered her carefully, with a new understanding. She had not yet seen him look so mature. Perhaps the looming threat of war was the thing that would be the making of James Potter. She just had to make sure it didn’t break him, too. 

She gave him a gentle nudge and smirked at him. ‘You know I’m going to have to imply that you might be a little bit annoying to ingratiate myself with the Slytherins, don’t you?’

‘Who me?’ James declared. ‘How will you ever convince them of that? You don’t have the acting chops, I’m afraid!’ 

She couldn’t help but smile. ‘I’m going to have to make friends there too. Severus seems nice…’

‘Don’t you dare!’

‘It’s that or Malfoy…’

‘Oh Merlin…’

She regarded him seriously. ‘Whatever happens, whatever I say, whatever I do, I still have your back. It might not feel like it, though. I’ll become whatever I need to be to survive,’ she whispered.

‘Your family, kitten,’ James teased. ‘That’s not going to change no matter what.’

‘I’m not a bloody cat!’ 

‘Tell that to Sirius… You’re going to have to choose another animal, then. Harpy?’ 

She hit him hard.

They argued about her animal form all the way back down the tower. 

Chapter 7: I:II

The following weeks were frustrating for Hermione, if only for how deadly boring her classes were.

She paid little mind to her lessons, transfiguring obscure and sometimes borderline illegal books to look like her textbooks to have something to entertain her. Her former self would not have approved.

Hermione was restless, but worse than that, Hogwarts was full of ghosts for her.

Time and time again, she would turn a corner of the castle and be hit a barrage of emotion when a scene from her past emerged. Some were merely bittersweet, but she could not help but freeze and gasp when memories of the battle came back to her. Crashes, ringing, and the worst screams rang out in her ears as she tried her best not to let panic overtake her.

At least she was getting practice for her Occulmency, which, as Draco had lectured her, was not her strong point. 

Luckily, even when her strange behaviour was noticed, it didn't seem out of character. She came across as stilted, icy and disengaged, which made her seem all the more snake-like. She received occasional concerned looks from James and Remus in her joint classes, but largely, she was ignored by the Marauders and their fellow Gryffindors.

Hermione repeated her mantras. It did not matter. There was no point getting close to these people. Not if she wanted to save them. Anyway, she would rather be ignored by Sirius than be the subject of his angry, hurt stares.

She was deep in the middle of a mild panic attack in the Charms classroom, remembering how the ceiling collapsed on Romalda Vane during the Battle of Hogwarts when a soft voice interrupted her thoughts. 

'Do you mind if I sit here?' the voice of Lily Evans asked mildly, gesturing to the seat next to her. 

Hermione gave her a wide-eyed look, grasping the table harder so her nails dug into the grain. She nodded imperiously, hoping that was enough to give her time to steady her rapidly beating heart. 

Lily huffed and sat down, taking out her books and then turning again to Hermione. 'Are you quite alright?' she asked in a concerned tone. 'I hope you don't mind me saying, but you look a bit peaky...' 

Hermione gulped. 'It was something I ate. My stomach doesn't agree with the rich food here, but I'll be fine.' 

'Glad to hear it,' Lily smiled kindly.

Hermione caught Severus staring at Lily longingly, narrowing his eyes as Hermione caught him.

Her former Potions Professor was certainly not the impassive man she had come to know before. The mask he often wore suggested he had already learnt some form of occulmency and used it to his advantage. Nevertheless, those teenage hormones broke through his walls, shining a slither of light on his true intentions. Lily Evans was his weakness. 

She did not want to get in the middle of that mess, especially when she needed to get Severus on her side. Hermione gave him a curt nod, hoping it was enough to clarify her allegiances, and turned to Lily.

'Your usual partner is burning a hole in your head,' Hermione whispered nonchalantly.

'Yes, well, he can stare all he likes,' Lily smarted, opening up her book a little more forcefully than was needed. 'I wouldn't partner with him again if he was the last Wizard on earth!' 

'Let's hope it doesn't come to that,' Hermione said darkly. 

'Your Slytherins don't look happy with you either,' Lily replied, nodding at Pernilla, who was shooting daggers at Hermione so sharply that she was sure she would bleed from the sight of it. Really, Hermione should not be entertaining Lily. But then, burning bridges at this stage wasn't sensible either, and she could always feign ignorance at Lily's blood status. 

Hermione snorted. 'I'm not sure they’re 'my Slytherins' yet.'

'But they will be?' Lily asked shrewdly.

'It would be convenient, given I live with them.' 

Lily hummed. 'How are you at Charms?'

Hermione smirked. 'Passable, I suppose...' 

Hermione, of course, was better than passable. Even trying to play down her talents, she couldn't help but shine. She and Lily soon fell into an easy rhythm that came with working with someone who matched your intellect. 

Her heart soared a little at the warm interaction with Harry's mum. It was hard not to get lost in their similarities and bask in the comfort that they offered. She knew she could not get distracted, though - she was here for one thing alone - to become a snake. 

It was not proving to be easy. In lessons, at mealtimes, and in the common room, bodies turned away from her and eyes were never met.

Remain aloof, Draco had insisted. Glide through that dungeon as if you don’t have a care in the world. Don’t you dare go in there like the bulldozer I know you are. Hermione had huffed, but now she was living through mind games; she could see his point.

She vowed never to show weakness. 

Hermione focused on observation. People-watching had never been her forte; it bored her to tears.

This, though, was life or death. The subtle power exuded by Lucius Malfoy, Titus Nott and Rabaston Lestrange amongst the Slytherins mattered. The fact that they saw Regulus Black, their junior in age, as an equal, mattered. Narcissa Black, as the future Lady Malfoy's approval or disdain, set the tone for all other Witches in Slytherin to follow. As much as it pained Hermione to acknowledge, this all now mattered. 

Beyond tracking the movers and shakers, she concentrated on impressing and assisting her fellow Slytherins in lessons, answering questions correctly in a bored tone and adding creative flourishes to practical lessons to help her stand out. Point accumulations were always welcome in a house that struggled with teacher prejudice and wayward behaviour. 

Interactions were another matter. The sixth year Witches were the obvious place to start. Sharing a dorm didn't give Hermione much of an advantage, though. Pernilla Parkinson was a lost cause, and as predicted, Narcissa had picked up some of the latest issues of Parisian fashion magazines Hermione had left lying around, but she was still yet to look Hermione in the eye. 

She focused on the lowest-hanging fruit. Parminda, at least, was willing to engage.

One Saturday, Hermione and Parminda were lounging on the armchairs in their dorm, idly reading magazines. Hermione was reading her horoscope predictions and trying her best not to scoff.

She obviously gave too much away, and Parminda said slyly. 'What's in store for you this week, Potter?'

Hermione took the bait. 'A series of unfortunate events,' she deadpanned. 

'Is your demise imminent?' Pernilla snapped bitchily. 

'It is,' Hermione replied with a sly smile. 'But I'm taking all my enemies down with me...'

Parminda cackled. 'Tell about what's in store for Leo,' she demanded. 

'Riches, and a brief encounter with a hot young Wizard,' Hermione smiled.

'Now that I can get behind,' Parminda hummed. 

Narcissa, who had been lying on her bed, let out a deep sigh, swished her wand and closed her curtains around her bed, trapping her inside.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Parminda questioningly. 

'Narcissa always needs privacy when she's practising her Occulmency.’

Hermione hummed. 'I see why peace and quiet is needed. I prefer being outside to mediate, though...'

'You mediate?' Parminda asked. 

'A little,' Hermione offered, remembering those long days trying to clear her mind and relax, which Draco claimed she was terrible at. 'I'm not natural, to be honest, and I'm still trying to find the right space to do it here. This place is too much of a maze.' 

Parminda gave her a thoughtful look. 'The roof,' she said finally. 'I'm going up there now, actually. But I warn, I have my own way of doing things and I won't hesitate to throw you off if you kill my vibe.'

'Understood,' Hermione said with a nod, her heart beating wildly at her first success. 'Lead the way.' 

Hermione sensibly did what she was told that day, and she and Parminda fell into an easy routine of heading to the rooftops on a Saturday morning, practising clearing their minds and building their Occlumency shields. She would never bend into the unimaginable yoga positions Parminda insisted on, but she had her running to keep her fit anyway. 

The sixth-year Wizards of Slytherin were another matter. 

She dismissed Winston Goyle completely. He was too stupid to be useful.

Rabaston Lestrange and Titus Nott were worth watching. They were serious people, and would eventually have serious roles as Death Eaters. It would take time and great effort to truly earn their trust if she was able to do it at all. Still, she needed to try. 

She observed how Titus watched her at mealtimes, appreciating her manners and form. His exacting gaze tracked her meticulously, watching how she delicately used her wand to pour her afternoon tea and sipped daintily. A gift of manners from her Muggle mother, that translated so well into Pureblood Society.

Titus's approval was impossible to ignore. The most handsome and imposing of all the Slytherin Wizards, his athletic form and quiet contemplation reminded her of Victor. 

This wasn’t the type of attention she needed, though, at least not yet.

It was a strange feeling, one she hadn't considered since before the war, to be a normal Witch affected by the admiration of Wizards. Her plan was not to be an easy conquest, no matter how handsome her suitors were. 

She tried to remain unaffected by Titus’s chiselled jaw, muscular frame, and commanding presence, or at least not show that she was affected.

There was danger in playing her cards too early.  Waiting patiently was the name of the game, silently hoping for openings that would get her closer to her goal. No matter how small her moves were, they mattered. 

A twist of fate throwing into the path of another future Death Eater came one chilly October afternoon in the dungeons.

The booming sound of an epic explosion came from the back of the classroom, and Hermione froze in fear. Her heart was beating wildly, and she turned, wand clasped tightly in her hand to the noise.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw what had happened. Goyle stood covered head to toe in smoking potion, and angry-looking Severus Snape was at his side, dusting the remnants of the potion from his robes. 

As Professor Slughorn swept towards Goyle to clean up his mess and an angry Severus headed to the stores, Hermione saw her chance. She casually followed Severus into the store cupboard, browsing the ingredients with an impassive look. 

'Potter,' Severus spat out when he saw her. 

'Snape,' she replied in an equally bored tone, her brow raised. 'It seems your partner doesn't match your ability,' she said idly, picking up some boomslang wings and eyeing them casually. 

'That's somewhat of an understatement,' he scoffed. 

'I can't say I'm particularly enjoying being partnered with Aurelian Fawley myself...'

'Not interested in being fawned over?' Severus sniped.

'I'm not interested in mediocre talent,' she confirmed. 'Let's just say he's not living up to his illustrious name.' 

'Funny,' Severus replied, narrowing his eyes. 'It always seemed to me the Potter name seemed to come with a degree of arrogance.' 

Hermione shrugged. 'I imagine you've got that impression. I'm not interested in bragging, though. I'm just interested in developing my skills.'

'Do you have a suggestion?' Severus replied, his expression blank. 

'There's an advantage in swapping partners, and we'd both rather be with someone less idiotic...'

'You think we can tolerate each other?'

She shrugged. 'I think we can try...' 

Severus nodded. A tentative alliance was formed.

From that day, Hermione became Severus’s dedicated potions assistant, following his directions to the letter, earning them consistently top marks.

It wasn't that hard for Hermione, who enjoyed finally having someone to join her around a cauldron who matched her intellect. He barely spoke to her in those first few months and still cast wistful looks in Lily Evan's direction, but that didn’t matter. She was gaining ground, and that was the important thing.

Towards the end of October, she finally had a real breakthrough. Rabaston Lestrange had joined her at her table in the compulsory Muggle Studies class, which all 6th and 7th years were supposed to take in light of the growing threat of Voldemort. Still, Narcissa, Pernilla, Titus and Severus found excuses for being absent that day.

Her breakthrough came at a significant cost, though. 

The class was, to put it politely, a complete joke. Hermione was uncertain who had decided to use it as a PR exercise for all the good Muggles had done in the world, but she would like to give them a piece of her mind. It came across as condescending, disingenuous, and, worst of all, wholly inaccurate, doing the opposite of the intended effect. 

Her former self would have been scandalised, but Hermione’s view had changed; the political climate that led to Pureblood mania did not exist in a vacuum. It came from a very real fear of what Muggles would do to the Wizarding World given the chance.

In their many evenings debating, Draco had explained this was borne from the sacrifices the community had made during the 17th-century Witch hunts, culminating in the Statue of Secrecy. She might be appalled at where it led, but she could see why it had come about. 

As a young Muggle-born, it took her a long time to realise that arrogance in trying to change everything about the Wizarding World she had joined did not help her cause. She didn’t understand what Purebloods were protecting and why - but then nobody ever helped educate her. 

In the middle of a long lecture by Professor Burbage on how the post-war late 1940s years were filled with optimism, ‘chocolate boxes and roses’ or some other nonsense like that, Hermione was called out for her eye-rolling. 

‘Do you have something to say, Miss Potter?’ The Professor demanded.

Hermione saw her opportunity. She would have to play the snake. ‘You’ve given no context,’ she replied shortly. 

‘I’m not sure what you mean, young lady,’ Professor Burbage replied, clearly annoyed.

‘I think you do, actually,’ Hermione replied primly, in her best snotty know-it-all tone. ‘The post-war years did not happen in a vacuum. They followed one of the worst atrocities in human history. 6 million people were sent to the gas chambers - mothers, children, babies, slaughtered in mass-organised genocide. That’s not to mention my fellow Americans building and detonating a nuclear bomb that wiped out whole cities and had the potential to blow up the whole world-  Muggle and Wizarding.’ 

‘That’s not helpful, Miss Potter.’

‘It’s not helpful to what you are trying to achieve, but it is true. Muggles are just as dangerous, if not more than Wizards - surely you have a responsibility to teach about these dangers as well as appreciate the good?’

‘10 points from Slytherin,’ Professor Burbage said firmly. 

If Professor Burbage thought that would stop Hermione, she was very wrong. ‘There’s a word for that in the Muggle world - Holocaust Denier,’ Hermione spat. ‘This school is useless if it only teaches half the story. Hogwarts is so obsessed with expelling Dark Magic that it ignores our heritage. So many ancient rituals are long forgotten. And where are the Wizarding Culture classes for Muggle-borns? There is so much that Muggle-borns do not understand about how this world works, its social rules, and the importance of family magic. There is nothing as powerful…’ 

‘Out of my classroom, Miss Potter. You may report to Dumbledore!’ 

Hermione sighed and packed up her things, ignoring the hole that James, Sirius, Lily, and their fellow Gryfindors were burning in her head.

Worse of all was Sirius, who wore a look of shock and anger that almost made her stumble as she exited the room. It hit her unexpectedly, a lance to her icy heart, cutting a wound so deep she knew it would heal easily. 

The raised eyebrows of Rabaston were almost worth it, or else she had to believe they were. She would do things far more hurtful before the war was over. 

She was not Hermione Granger anymore.

Chapter 8: I:III

Sirius was staring again. 

It had become a habit ever since James's cousin had been sorted into Slytherin to check she was whole and unhurt. Every morning, he scanned her form carefully, looking for the telltale signs of covered-up bruising he was used to with his brother and cousins. He wasn't about to let Sacred 28 bastards try their tricks on Hermione.

Now he was looking at her with something else in his eyes. Disgust. How she, as a Potter, could say such horrendous things was beyond him. She was as bad as his horrible family. 

'Pads,' Remus said gently. 'It might be time to let that one go...'

Sirius eyes shot up and narrowed at Remus. 'Don't be ridiculous. I know what she is now...' 

'Has James talked to her?' Peter asked seriously.

'Not yet,' Remus sighed. 'She might have a good explanation...' 

'Unlikely,' Sirius said darkly. 'You heard what she said, Moony. She's a sympathiser at best. I don't know what we were thinking, assuming just because she's James cousin that she's decent.'

'I don't think it was her goodness you were after,' Remus scoffed lightly.

'I don't know why you're bothering with Slytherin when Sophie Edwards is fluttering her eyelashes at you...' 

'She is?' Sirius cried, shooting his head up to see the pretty Ravenclaw, who blushed as she caught his eye.

'Heard her gushing about you in the girls toilets last night,' Peter said slyly.

'Pete, you've really got to stop spying on girls like that...' Remus scolded. 'It's creepy.'

Sirius wasn't paying attention, though. He knew exactly what he needed to take his mind off Hermione Potter. Getting lost inside a Ravenclaw should do the trick...

 

..........

It wasn’t that doors were opened to Hermione in Slytherin due to an outburst, but there was a slither of light. The salt was passed, nods of recognition given, and the crueller attempts at pranks stopped.

Watching the angry stares from James, Sirius, and their friends was not easy, though. Still, she had to do her best to console herself with the gains she was making.

'Today, we'll be making a potion which allows the drinker to speak in another tongue. Frankish, Swaheli or even Parseltongue!' Professor Slughorn announced gleefully. 

'How useful for wannabee Death Eaters,' Sirius said pointedly, staring at Hermione and Severus.

'Ignore them,' Severus with a tut. 'Those naive fools aren't worth a moment of either of our time.' 

'Quite,' Hermione agree, keeping her head down and cutting up their mandrake leaves.

Hermione knew the irony of what she'd done, given she would have stood by everything she said as a Muggle-born. She was angry that so much of the magical world had been closed to her, and she’d never been taught to claim ancient magic that Hogwarts barely acknowledged. 

It was an argument she rolled out to Lily, who radiated anger when they met to complete a shared Charms assignment in the library one evening. They tried to work through it, but the pages slamming got too much for Hermione.

‘Go on, then,’ Hermione said with a sigh. ‘Let rip at me. It’s clear you want to, and we aren’t going to get anything done until you do.’ 

Lily eyed her suspiciously. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘Try me,’ Hermione replied gently. 

‘Those things you said, about Muggle-borns being ignorant and Pureblood superiority, I’ve had those things thrown at me every day since I arrived here,’ Lily ranted passionately. ‘It’s not right. You used the worst of humanity, twisted it, to make a point, and gave more weight to those xenophobic attitudes that have no place in any decent society. I am good at this. Damn it, sometimes, I’m bloody brilliant. I trample all over those Pureblood bigots in Charms, but still, they have no respect for me. How am I supposed to work with something that places no value on my hard work? In my talent? Isn’t that what matters?’ 

‘It should be,’ Hermione agreed, remembering what Draco had said to her, many moons ago. 

‘It should be? It should be?! That’s all you have to say??!’ Lily said, growing angrier and angrier. ‘I can’t do this…’

‘Lily, I do have respect for you,’ Hermione pleaded. ‘You are a brilliant Witch, but to think talent alone will ever be enough in this world is naive. This world doesn’t work that way.’ 

Lily scoffed, but Hermione continued. ‘Those words you used about ignorance and superiority - I never said either of those things. Yes, I know that’s what the Slytherins heard - that’s what I wanted them to hear. I don’t want to be on the side of righteousness and be a martyr Lily, I want to survive. More than that, I want to win. And you only win if you truly understand.’

‘So I am ignorant?’ Lily squeaked out, aghast. 

‘Not intentionally. There is so much they are not telling you, so much they are not showing you. How lost did you feel when you first arrived here? Did anyone help your transition? Did anyone teach you about all these new social rules that made no sense? They didn’t even try to help you understand. And it matters. You need to know how morality is understood in a world without religion, what types of marriage bonds there are, and how family magic is passed through generations. The textbooks in this library don’t even begin to cover what matters. It could save your life one day.’ 

Lily still regarded her sceptically as Hermione pulled out an old textbook from her bag and handed it to her. 

‘Read this. It won’t change your mind, but it’s a start. Shall we get back to it?’ Hermione tried, wanting to draw a line under it. 

Lily nodded curtly. 

 

James met her at the Astronomy Tower a few days later. The silence stretched between them for much longer this time. It was hard for Hermione not to react to the sadness and confusion in his eyes. ‘Did you mean any of that?’ He started sadly. 

‘It depends. There are lots of things wrong with the Wizarding World, James, and not all of them are down to Pureblood fanatics and Voldemort,’ she tried. 

‘You said his name!’ James spluttered. 

‘I actually didn't,’ Hermione corrected primly. 

‘What?’ he raised his voice, incredulous. 

‘Do you think he came out of the womb and his mother called him Lord Voldemort?’ 

James burst out laughing, the image of a mini baby Dark Lord too much for him. 

Hermione smiled and tried to explain. ‘He was somebody else before he gave himself ridiculous airs wasn’t he, but nobody asks about that, do they? Nobody wants to know. And it matters. Where did he come from? What drove him to this? The problem is, if they find out, they might not like the answers. They might be complicit,’ she said bitterly. 

‘I don’t know what to say to that, Hermione. You offended a lot of people,’ James sighed, rubbing his eyes.

‘I know,’ said Hermione gently. ‘People don’t want to hear about complexity, they want things to be simple. You don’t have to say anything, just think about it. Use that big brain of yours for something better than bloody pranks.’

‘But I’ve got such a good one brewing in there…’ James teased lightly. 

‘I don’t want to know,’ she said sternly. 

‘Oh, you do. You really do.’ 

She rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. At least get me a drink if I’m going to have to sit through this.’

They talked and laughed for hours that night. It felt like home. 

Chapter 9: I:IV

Although tentative alliances had been formed, Hermione had no real friendships beyond her familial relationship with James, at least not yet. 

Hermione needed the Potters in the long term, and could easily justify the need to keep James on side. Their interactions were more than an alliance, though. It was impossible not to be drawn into his warmth, especially when he forgave her all manner of bad behaviour. They were family, he would tell her. Nothing would change that.

How little he understood. 

'You should come to the Gryffindor Tower on Saturday night,' James said casually as they dangled their legs over the Astronomy Tower one evening. These weekly meetings were at least keeping her sane, with James guileless conversation allowing her to breathe and bask in simple banter without Slytherin mind games.

Hermione looked at him sceptically. 'Not my sort of thing,' she replied.

'Don't be ridiculous,' James scoffed. 'A party is everybody's thing. Beside it's the start of Yule season and we all need to celebrate.'

'I really don't. I'd much rather read a book.' 

'How are we even related?' James asked incredulously.

'I have no idea,' Hermione deadpanned. 'You must have been swapped at birth...' 

'Me?' 

'Of course,' Hermione said with a teasing smile. 'Your Father is seriously intelligent, and your Mother was in Slytherin, wasn't she? I don't know where you came from...' 

James gasped in mock outrage. 'Take that back!' he demanded, 

'Never,' she sang, jumping up and dusting off her robes. 'I'll see you next week, my adopted cousin...'

'Slander!' she heard him cry as she walked off, chuckling as she went.

It was hard that this was the only time she could truly be herself. But then she remembered the weight of her plans that rested on her becoming a chameleon. Allies were better for her in the long run. She couldn’t afford to fall into the easy trap of the warmth of real relationships, it would make betraying them all so much harder. 

Over the last few weeks of term, she concentrated on enjoying her company and the simple pleasures of walking the familiar grounds, learning new spells, practising the Piano, and meditating. 

Hogwarts in her time had fallen, the castle in semi-ruins, its walls seeped with darkness. The Boy Who Lived's last stand had come to nothing - it was the Dark Lord’s world now, and that world was good for no one but himself. It was disconcerting to see the castle whole, warm, and full of life. In this fallen world, she’d been a fugitive, traveling from place to place, and feeding off scraps, the constant threat and hunger, making it hard to focus.

It was a joy now to be well-fed, rested, and able to think with clarity. She revelled in this, filling her many hours alone with research, practice, and experimentation for what lay ahead. 

She found this much more fulfilling than the observation she was suppose to be doing. Draco would not be impressed with her short attention span in that regard. Especially when she hadn’t noticed that she was the one being watched. 

‘How good are you at Quidditch?’ Titus enquired one bright December morning as they walked to Care of Magical Creatures. 

‘Terrible,' she replied honestly. 'Really, really bad. It’s far too confusing, and I hate all the balls flying everywhere.’

‘Shame,’ he smirked.

‘Why do you ask?’ she probed carefully. 

‘We need a new Seeker. I’ve seen you fly in the mornings. Your balance is impeccable,’ he complimented smoothly.  

This was interesting. She only recently managed to hover more than 2 metres above the ground. She must be improving more than she thought. ‘You might have noticed I don’t go very high though,’ she replied wryly, thinking of excuses that fit her cover story. ‘The balance comes from years of ballet training, then ballroom. The life of a debutante has some uses.’

‘I’ve never seen a debutante go for a run,’ Titus threw back. 

Hermione stilled, realising her mistake. Running was a decidedly Muggle pastime, and she wasn't sure how to explain it away. She kept her tone light and try for deflection. ‘Have you been stalking me, Nott?’ she teased lightly. 

‘Just paying attention,’ he smiled enigmatically, his clear blue eyes sparkling in the sun.

Hermione smiled tightly in response. She would have to be even more careful and spend more time on pursuits worthy of a good Pureblood Slytherin.

After Titus’s comment, she spent more hours in the common room. Most of the time, she was ignored and stuck to reading academic books. Severus eyed her intently one Friday evening, though, seemingly contemplating whether to engage.

'I find myself without a Chess Partner,' he said mildly.

'I find myself in need of practising my game,' Hermione replied, joining him at  the chess table.

He won easily, but she gave him a good enough run for his money that he invited her the next evening and then the next. 

She also tried to bond with her dorm mates on more feminine concerns, no matter how uninteresting they were to her. Hermione recalled tips from all those hours of listening to Lavender and Parvati drone on about the best beauty charms. She dropped a tidbit here and there on Narcissa, not telling her how much of the knowledge she passed along had Muggle roots.

‘I haven’t got a clue about what to do about this unsightly mole,’ complained Narcissa one evening, scrutinising her reflection in a large mirror. 

In Hermione's opinion, the offending mole was anything but unsightly, but she went with it. ‘Honestly, I think it gives you character. If you’re too flawless, you start to look unreal,’ she replied.

‘Well, I don’t like it - it’s got to go,’ Narcissa replied sharply. ‘Being cooped up at Hogwarts is not helpful when you need an appointment with a Skin Witch.’ 

‘Where do Skin Witches learn?’ Hermione replied casually, flicking her edition of Parisian Witch. ‘There must be some research somewhere. I'll do it for you if you can find me some books. I’ve got a scar I’d like to be rid of.' 

‘Your skin is suspiciously impeccable, Hermione,’ Pernilla said slyly. ‘Are you sure you haven’t sacrificed some baby Mooncalfs to keep your looks?’

Hermione snorted. ‘Hardly. I’ve got a good handle on basic glamours, but anything more complex, and I’ve not got a clue, which is a shame because I really needed help when I was younger...’

‘Go on, do tell,’ Parminda coaxed, leaning in to get the full effect of Hermione’s tragic tale. 

‘I had terrible bucked teeth once,’ she confided quietly. 

‘Noooo, that would not have worked with your mouth!’ Parminda replied gleefully, scandalised. 

‘It really didn’t,’ she confirmed darkly. ‘It was a nurse who sorted them out for me after a horrible boy made them grow even longer. I still don’t understand how she did it.’ 

‘I knew you were hiding something,’ muttered Pernilla. 

Parminda went in for the kill. ‘Oh, Pernilla, we all remember your real nose.’

Cackles of laughter filled the dorm room as Pernilla launched cushions at them all. 

Chapter 10: I:V

It wasn’t long before Yule was upon them, and Hermione was packing her trunk to depart on the Hogwarts Express back to Potter Manor.

She had very little to show for five months in this timeline. People accepted who she was, but she had no real alliances, and the path to Tom Riddle was unclear. 

She reasoned she had not yet failed, though. Her plan was still possible, and that was a miracle in itself.

‘I positively hate this time of year,’ sighed Pernilla Parkinson, packing her things into her trunk in preparation for leaving Hogwarts. ‘There are far too many balls and not nearly enough time to pack them in. When are we supposed to have time to get the gowns made? 

‘The life of a Pureblood heiress is full of challenges,’ Parminda hit back dryly. ‘How will you survive Christmas?’

Hermione bit her lip to hold back a laugh. Her dormmates were completely ridiculous most of the time. At least Parminda had a sense of humour about it all. 

‘It’s not Christmas that matters, Parminda,’ Pernilla scolded. ‘Why is everyone at Hogwarts obsessed with Christmas when it’s Yule that matters?’ 

‘Don’t snap at me,' Parminda grumbled. 'My Pureblood ancestors celebrated Ganpati, Holi, and Diwali, and no one here cares about them.’

‘At least there'll be enough elf-made wine at your house, Pernilla,’ Narcissa butt in. ‘Ours will be wall-to-wall rituals. It will be worse because they must do everything possible to make my wayward cousin toe the line. It’s exhausting.’

Hermione tried not to wince, realising she must mean Sirius. Those days spent wandering around Grimmauld Place flashed into her mind. The creepy portraits, dark objects and the omnipresent atmosphere seeping from the walls made her shiver. She didn't want to think too much about what was in store for him when he got home. 

‘He doesn’t help himself, does he?’ Sighed Parminda. 

‘And he never will. They need to kick him out once and for all,’ Narcissa stated calmly as if she were discussing the weather. 

Pernilla turned to Hermione, narrowing her eyes slyly as if she might catch her in her flytrap. ‘The Potters would have him, wouldn’t they?’ 

Hermione snorted, and then her face grew pale, unable to hide her true reaction. ‘Oh Merlin, I’d be stuck with two of them, wouldn’t I?’ 

The girls all cackled at that. They could all agree that more than one Marauder was too much for anyone to handle. 

 

.................

 

As it turned out, Christmas was quieter than Hermione imagined, at least initially. She was welcomed back with open arms by Euphemia and Fleamont, and it was just the four of them completing the Yule rituals.

Days were spent walking the grounds and in the quiet solitude of the Potter library. In the evenings, she basked in the simple pleasure of chess with James without any of the mind games she had been used to from Severus in the past few months. 

Slowly, her body began to relax, the permanent knots in her back uncurling as she felt at peace once again. 

The relative serenity of Potter Manor lulled her into a false sense of security.

Storm Sirius arrived on Christmas Eve, battered, bruised, and baying for blood.

Whatever the Black rituals had entailed, they made him angry beyond anything Hermione had witnessed.

When he lashed out, he was a force of nature. As the only Witch in the household with any respect for the Dark Arts, she was an easy target.  

She watched him stalk around the library on Christmas Eve, tension coiled tightly as a spring, looking for something to spark his fire. It was Slytherin’s Spellbook that did it in the end.

‘What’s this?’ he spat, his eyes wild and furious as he grabbed the text from her hands. ‘A bit of light reading?’ 

‘Yes, actually,’ she stated calmly.

‘So you’re fully committed then? To the house of the darkest Wizards? Are you brushing up on your worst hexes? Going to use them on your new family?’ 

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Hermione chided primly, smoothing down her skirt and avoiding eye contact. She knew that if she dared to look up, his anger would sting all the more. 

‘Don’t you dare call me ridiculous! I, more than anyone, know what the Dark Arts can do, how bloody dangerous they are,’ he roared. 

Hermione chanced a look up at him then. The depth of anger in his gaze drew her in, but it was not all she saw. Behind all that bravado was pain.

It tugged on her heartstrings, that knowledge of who he was and how he had suffered at his family's hands in his short life. Sirius deserved so much more than the path fate had laid out for him.

'I know you do. I’m not like your family, Sirius. You storm in here accusing me of horrible things, but you don’t know me. You don’t know why I’m reading this,’ she tried, begging him to see reason. 

Sirius, though, did not know anything about her conflicted nature, her goodness, or her empathy. The visceral hatred that flashed behind his eyes told Hermione one thing: all he saw in her was a dark Witch. After all he'd suffered at the hands of the Blacks, who else could she be, but the enemy?

His voice rose even more. ‘There’s no excuse!’ 

Hermione spluttered, frustration rising in her very bones.

No one in this Merlin-forsaken place would ever understand her, least of all Sirius, who had no desire to see anything but black and white.

Hermione Granger was warmth and light. Hermione Potter survived only to live in the grey.

‘So everyone’s either good or evil, then? And all Slytherins are the latter?’ Hermione spluttered, losing her cool. 

Sirius was defiant. ‘I’ve not seen any evidence to contradict that.’ 

‘Well, you’re not looking!’ She shouted, exasperated. 

‘Why would I?’ His tone dripping with low malice, ‘You’re sitting there reading the foulest book about a bigot who is idolised by the worst that Wizarding kind has to offer. You don’t deserve the Potters.’ 

That hit hard. A gut punch so forceful it made her ears ring. Time seemed to stop as the power of his words sank in. 

She had no retort to give. 

Hermione tried so hard to divorce herself from his words. She knew he was lashing out, that he had no idea of her situation, and neither did she want him to. But deep down, she knew that war had changed her and distorted her into someone without the moral clarity she once had. She knew what she deserved now, and it wasn’t the kindness she’d found here. 

Thinking about what she had to do in the long term didn’t seem so challenging when the Potters were abstract, but seeing them as living, breathing embodiments of the light of goodness made things much harder.

She would have to betray them to save them. 

Struck by Sirius’s words, Hermione slinked out of the library and into the grounds, walking for what seemed like hours, feeling like she’d been hit by an emotional freight train. 

She missed her family—her real family, her friends, and everyone she’d left behind, dead or alive. Nothing would replace the years of memories and bonds that had been built. James was thawing her icy heart, but he was not Harry. She would never have those bonds here. If she gave in to feeling too much for these people, she wouldn’t be able to help anyone, and the cycle would continue. 

She woke up on Christmas morning, trying desperately to hold on to the tears as she opened the small pile of presents at her bedside. They flowed freely as she opened her presents: Chocolates from James, a beautiful gown from Euphemia, and a protective amulet from Fleamont.

This new family of hers was so eager to embrace her, and yet she could give them no affection. Feelings were dangerous now. 

Despite Euphemia's pleas, she couldn’t face the morning with the family, coming down only for food. She sat quietly and stoically, letting the warm laughter of the Potters wash over her. James tried to engage her in their games after dinner, but she politely declined, contenting herself with a book by the fire. 

‘Let her be, James,’ she heard Euphemia quietly whisper. ‘This is a hard time of year for those who have lost loved ones, and she’s lost more than most.’ 

 

.............

 

She rallied after Christmas, spending the following days in and around Diagon and Knockturn, acquiring supplies and making connections with shopkeepers who could help her in the future, from obscure booksellers to purveyors of Cursed objects. She also bought a few shares in the Muggle stock market and the Gringotts equivalent, acquiring things she could trade, from tobacco to secrets, to help her gather funds and make connections. 

The feelings that overwhelmed her at Christmas were squashed down, locked in a tight box, and protected by walls upon walls of Occulmency.

Draco would be proud of her, she thought. An icy shell was forming around her, protecting her for what was to come. Never mind that everything good and right could not penetrate her walls either.  

New Year's Eve offered new opportunities. 

The Potters had a yearly gathering for the more open-minded Wizarding Society. Hermione was determined to focus her evening on what mattered the most. Observation. Connections. Advantage. 

Slowly, the guests started trickling into Potter Manor over the following days, occupying rooms and social spaces and providing her new chances to flex her skills. The Marauders, Selwyns, and McKinnons. 

Hermione was all smiles and false politeness. 

On the night itself, Hermione dressed carefully in her new robes and greeted the Patils, including Parminda - her one true ally that night.  

Parminda’s family had a good relationship with the Potter family and were excused from the rival Malfoy function due to their unique status as Indian Purebloods outside of the Sacred 28.

Parminda seemed ecstatic to be at the more relaxed function, partly to be nosy but also hoping she might nab a snog from a Marauder. She was taking the last year of her freedom seriously.

‘Just look at them, Hermione, in those dress robes. Good enough to eat…’ Parminda drooled, eyeing up the Marauders, who were all tall, relaxed handsomeness. 

‘Meh,’ Hermione replied nonchalantly.

‘Come on! You cannot deny they look good!’ 

‘They are tolerable, I suppose. But not handsome enough to tempt me,’ she replied with her best Mr Darcy impression.

‘You’re on another Planet sometimes, Potter. I’ll forgive you because you are occasionally witty and take me to the best parties,’ replied Parminda breezily. 

Edgar Bones managed to capture Hermione’s attention, though, making a beeline for her as soon as he arrived and insisting she give him a tour of the party. They spent a happy half hour, charming each other in equal measure with their equal wits. Although Edgar was handsome, he was too much of an open book to be her type, so Hermione could converse happily without consequence. 

They were interrupted as James approached them, dragging Hermione away with a firm, ‘I need to steal my cousin, Edgar. Please excuse us.’

‘Hey! I was having a conversation, you idiot!’ Hermione protested. 

‘He’s too old for you,’ James replied firmly. 

She scoffed. He had no idea. 

James steered her towards the Marauders and Parminda, who was eyeing them all up hungrily. Her new friend’s none-too-subtle manoeuvres amused her. She wasn’t sure if a distracted James or nervous Remus was Parminda’s target. 

Sirius was a lost cause, already wrapped up in a very scantily dressed Marlene McKinnon, who was the life and soul of the party.

When Hermione caught his eye, she felt something twitch deep in her chest. It was a strange but fleeting sensation, covered by layers and layers of dissociation. Perhaps it was anger or hurt at their last conversation, or perhaps it was something deeper. Either way, it would not do to examine it too closely. 

Instead, she concentrated on his date. Marlene was dressed in leather, her eyes rimmed with kohl and hair wild and free, like some young Marianne Faithfull. She reminded Hermione of Ginny before the war. Hermione might have gotten to know her in another life, gone to pubs, and laughed endlessly, but she wasn’t playing that role here.    

So she moved on to make the best use of her time, discussing power plays at the Ministry with Madam Bones, movers and shakers at the Prophet with a Selwyn cousin, and the gossip about Pureblood engagements with the Prewitts. 

Hermione gathered information like flies. The Selwyn-Nott match had already run into problems, primarily over dowry, but there were concerns about the timidness of the bride with her match. She also heard Parkinson’s aggressively campaigning for a match for their daughter, Pernilla, with Regulus Black and Winston Goyle in the running, which made Hermione cackle.

This was where she needed to be. Mining for information. Collecting tidbits of currency. 

Time moved quickly, and Hermione was surprised when fireworks began to light up in the sky. Spellbound, she wandered through the gardens, finding her way to Parminda and the Marauders for the countdown to New Year. 

At the stroke of midnight, Hermione, without thinking, pulled Remus Lupin in for a quick kiss on the cheek. He flushed with embarrassment, and Hermione laughed, reaching up to affectionately wipe the lipstick off his cheek. 

When she turned around, she caught Sirius's eye. A flash of something passed over his face, all hotness and intensity. It must have been fury. That burning poker of his disapproval lanced Hermione's heart again, and all she could do was focus on her breath. In. Out. In. Out.

Luckily, his anger was fleeting, dissipating as Marlene pulled him in for a snog.

James didn't notice any of it. He was far too busy sucking Parminda’s face off, which was a sight that couldn’t ever be scrubbed from Hermione's mind. 

An hour or so later, the guests began to leave. Edgar lingered, kissing Hermione’s hand thoroughly before he left, which did not go unnoticed by Euphemia.  

‘He’s quite the charmer, isn’t he?’ Euphemia remarked. 

‘He’s been good company. I assure you, though, I remain completely unmoved,’ Hermione clarified. 

‘No, I didn’t think he was your type, dear. Too straight-laced. Do watch out, though; the fiery ones are trouble,’ Euphemia continued, pointedly eyeing Sirius. 

‘I know Euphemia,’ Hermione sighed. ‘But I’ve got more important things to do, and I have no intention of getting distracted.’ 

The Patils were staying over, and Parminda demanded Hermione take her to her quarters with a large bottle of Firewhiskey. 

It was a ruse, though. When they arrived, Parminda pulled out a present for Hermione with a raised brow, smirk and twinkle in her big brown eyes: A large shisha pipe with some interesting-looking tobacco.

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave a long-suffering nod. She had never really partaken in anything like it before, but given she needed allies, she couldn't see the harm in experimenting now.

They sat on her balcony for hours, choking on the smoky fumes and giggling to themselves into the early hours of the morning. 

‘What do you think you’re doing, cousin?’ The sly voice of James Potter interrupted sometime later, flanked by a very unsteady-looking Remus. 

‘Shh, don’t be ridiculous, there is nothing to see,’ Hermione sang, her inebriated state clear.

‘I see a very large pipe,’ James said, confused. 

‘Optimistic, Potter,’ Parminda replied, and a chorus of laughter from the Marauders followed.

Hermione shooed them out of the room. ‘Don’t you dare come in here unless you’re bringing snacks!’ 

‘Fine, we know damsels in distress when we see them. We’ll raid the kitchens and save you from your hunger!’ James promised. 

A midnight feast followed, filled with drunken disorder and heady laughter.

Hermione's Occlumency walls could not withstand this. The weaknesses of inebriation cut through them like butter, exposing her to the warmth, the camaraderie and the sheer joy of James and Remus in their prime. 

Hermione didn't have it in her to care. Her icy shell was tomorrow's problem.

Tonight, she would bask in warmth.

She went to sleep content for once. 

Chapter 11: I:VI:1977

The look of disgust Sirius gave Hermione as she greeted Severus on Platform 9 and 3/4s shook her to the core.

Sirius's silver eyes were trained on her as he stood lean, wiry and dangerous, looking like he wanted to hex her into oblivion. She gulped, keeping her expression stony and defiant. She had no time for his hurt right now. 

'So the Heir to the House of Black isn't happy with you?' drawled Severus, his eyebrow raised, sidling up to Hermione. 

'Is he happy with any Slytherin?' Hermione deadpanned as they turned and walked together towards the train. Taking a deep breath in, she remembered her mantras. Never mind the dull thud of her heart - this was what she wanted. The force of Sirius's anger was something to be harnessed for the greater good.  

Severus hummed. He opened the door to the train for her, and they stepped onto it, meandering through the tight corridors. 'He's always been a naive idiot. As have his friends...'

'They say you don't get to choose family,' Hermione stated with a sigh. 'Allies, however...' 

Severus gave her a hard, inscrutable look as he opened the door to the Slytherins' usual carriage. 'You should choose those very carefully.' 

'I quite agree,' Hermione said, pulling out an ancient copy of 'The Lost Art of Curse Making' and handing it to him. 'I found this in the library at home. I thought you might find it useful. You certainly won't find it at Hogwarts.'

Severus eyed the book for a moment before snatching it from her greedily, then sitting down at a booth on his own. 'Potter's are useful for something.'  

'They are,' came the sly-sounding voice of Parminda and sneaked up on them, winding her arm around Hermione's and pulling her towards a booth with a bored-looking Narcissa and a grumpy Pernilla. 'Did you bring any supplies?' she demanded.

Hermione rolled her eyes, pulling out some vintage Firewhiskey and handing it over. 

Pernilla tutted, and folded her arms. 

'What?' Parminda said defiantly. 'It's medicinal...' 

'So that's what you got up to at that shabby little party of yours, is it?' Pernilla snapped bitchily, folding her arms. 

'Hardly,' Hermione snorted. 'The Potters might be more relaxed than I'm used to, but neither of our parents will let us have more than a couple of glasses of Elf Wine on New Year's Eve.' 

'The Malfoys' gathering had a far superior class of guests,' Pernilla declared, her chin raised and head held high. 

'I don't doubt it,' Hermione said, ignoring the urge to lecture Pernilla on what having class really meant. She turned to Narcissa, scanning her brain for something she could use to connect with the icy Witch. 'I saw the pictures in the Prophet. You looked radiant, Narcissa.' 

Narcissa gave her an imperious nod. 'Mother and I took a little trip to Place Cachée to get our robes.'

'Don't put the Potter's guest list down, Hermione,' Parminda said slyly. 'It gave you a chance to flutter your eyelashes at Edgar Bones again...'

Hermione snorted. 'I've never been accused of fluttering my eyelashes at anybody.' It was true. She was far too stilted to ever be accused of being a flirt.

'Fine,' Parminda conceded with a twinkle in her eye. 'He was the one making eyes at you...'

'Did you entertain him?' Narcissa asked curiously.

'We just chatted about inconsequential things for a while,' Hermione replied lightly. 'James ensured I was always escorted, of course.'

'Of course,' Narcissa replied with a satisfied hum, dusting down her robes and returning to her previous activity - checking her nails for imperfections.  

'He's quite taken with you,' Parminda offered. 'And I'm sure he'd do things properly.' 

Hermione merely hummed. 'We'll see.' 

'Who were you flirting with, then?' Pernilla snapped at Parminda.

'Alas, I merely had to content myself with watching those handsome Marauders from afar...' she sighed dramatically, giving Hermione a bump on the shoulder. 'Your cousin is quite the snack, you know.'

'Eeeww,' Hermione retorted with a surprised little laugh and a shudder.

Hermione could see what Parminda was doing. Their departure from strict Pureblood propriety was not mentioned on return to Hogwarts and never would be. They were both too sensible of the social impact it might have, but careful to do enough to avoid suspicion. It was perfectly acceptable to look, as long as one did not touch. 

Besides, Parminda had done her a significant favour. The news of Edgar’s interest spread throughout the castle quickly, and it seemed to change perceptions of her within Slytherin. Edgar was a catch, and bestowing her with his favour in a gentlemanly manner meant she was now considered a player rather than an anomaly. 

'So, the Bones heir, eh?' Rabaston asked slyly one evening in the Slytherin Common Room. 

Several eyes shot up. Most notably, Regulus's narrowed almost imperceptibly, and Titus Nott looked on with mild interest. Hermione couldn't help the blush blooming in her cheeks or her racing heartbeat. 

'For Merlin's sake,' Hermione chastised. 'Can't I have a perfectly cordial conversation with an eligible Wizard without speculation?' 

'Frankly, no,' Parminda cut in, her voice light and breezy. 'We've got nothing better to do than speculate. You're as good as engaged in all our minds...'

'You're ridiculous,' Hermione snorted. 'I've barely spoken to the Wizard! And I certainly wouldn't consider anyone who didn't do things properly...' 

'There I was thinking the Potters had rejected all the old ways...' Rabaston mused. 

'You've not met the right Potters then,' Hermione said sharply, dusting down her robes and giving Rabaston a look that would cower a lesser Wizard.

Rabaston merely nodded, a sly, knowing look on his face. It was hard not to catch Regulus's raised brow and Titus's satisfied hum. 

Like so many interactions with Slytherins, it was hard to say what the impact of the conversation had been. Hermione didn't think it had gone badly, but there was a long road to travel before she was seen as a prospect. The Potters were still too aligned on the light side, and she had not yet set herself far enough apart from them. 

However, Hermione did notice that following that day, the eyes of Pureblood men followed her more closely and carefully. She tried not to shiver at Evan Rosier’s interest and focused on the much more palatable feeling of Titus Nott’s warm gaze upon her.

The second son of Tiberius Nott cut a commanding figure in the halls of Hogwarts. He was stocky, well built, with a chiselled, athletic face. He watched her carefully at mealtimes and while she played chess with Severus in the evenings as if he was trying to work her out.

At first, it was unnerving. Hermione had not even felt a spark of attraction or considered entangling herself with a Wizard during the Second Wizarding War.

When she'd first arrived and felt the pull of attraction to Sirius, it had shocked her deeply. It was inconvenient, and she needed to shut it down, but her conscience could at least make sense of it. Sirius may be complicated, but his goodness and loyalty were never in doubt. 

Now, perhaps because she was finally safe, well and warm, her body was reacting to the Wizards around her in a whole different way. Deep in the pit of her stomach, there was a tentative but very real spark of desire for Titus that shook her to the core. She knew what he was and what he would become. This attraction was illogical, and Hermione couldn't make sense of it. 

Titus barely said a word to her, though, and she had no desire to push. Draco had made it quite clear that, depending on where the chips fell, she needed to consider attaching herself to a Wizard to get closer to her goal, but she wasn't ready to face that yet. The enormity of that task terrified her.

In the recesses of her mind, her heart whispered that Hermione Granger could never do such a thing. Then her mind remembered: she may have no choice. Nothing, not even her bodily autonomy, was as important as ridding the world of Tom Riddle. 

So she watched, and she waited.

In the meantime, she focused on developing alliances.  

Hermione grew fonder and fonder of Severus Snape, of all people. Memories of his cruelty as a teacher were fresh when she'd first entered the castle, but now it was so much easier to see him as an angry, mistreated, distrustful boy. She hadn’t expected to warm to him, but few could challenge Hermione intellectually, and his dry, caustic wit held a certain charm. It felt strange at first, but the warmth growing in her chest suggested he was becoming more than an acquaintance.  

'What do you talk about with him?' Parminda questioned her as they made their way to the dorms one evening. 

Hermione had spent the third night in a row playing Chess with Severus. 'Magicial theory, mostly,' Hermione shrugged. 'I haven't met many people with a mind as creative as his.'

Parminda snorted, holding open the door to the dorm room. 'You're such a swot.' 

'A proud swot, I'll have you know,' Hermione replied smugly. There was no point denying it. 'He's quite witty. I thought you appreciated anyone who could cut the egos in our house down to size?' 

Parminda hummed, throwing herself down on her bed. 'It's a shame he's so unfortunate-looking. And poor... that's not even mentioning the blood problem...'

'You're brutal, Parminda.'

'I'm realistic! He's hardly marriageable material, which is fine for an acquaintance. But you really should be using him to get closer to Regulus...'

Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically.  'He's a bit young for me!' 

Parminda tsked and waved her hand in dismissal. 'Only a year younger, and no one cares about that sort of thing here. He's the only male Black that matters, and my word, he's gorgeous...' 

Hermione laughed. 'Do you want me to get Sev to put in a good word for you?'

Parminda wiggled her eyebrows. 'Yes, please  - direct him to the nearest broom cupboard for me...'

Hermione threw a cushion at her. 'I'm not sure that's his style...'

What was Regulus's style, though? He remained an enigma. 

Ever since she'd found out who R.A.B. was, Hermione had been fascinated with Regulus's story.

Here was a boy, whom the older version of Sirius had told her was enamoured by the Dark Lord. Yet, a rebel must be buried deep within him to compel him to risk his life to destroy a Horcrux.

He gave no sign of rebellion at this time, though. 

Hermione found him somewhat unnerving. His sharp cheekbones, silver eyes and black curls were similar to his brother's, but the way he carried himself was completely different. He was the stilted, calm model of Pureblood excellence. 

Through her burgeoning alliance with Severus, evenings in the library and playing Wizard’s chess, she found herself alone with Regulus for the first time.

Regulus sat in stillness, his intense, closed gaze trained upon her.

Hermione held his gaze confidently, taking the time to scrutinise him. He was not quite as classically handsome as his brother; he was leaner and more angular, but he shared the same excellent bone structure, luscious curly black locks, and sparkling eyes, which were hard not to get lost in. 

‘You’ve made quite an impression,’ he stated.

‘Impressions are easy to create, are they not? It doesn’t necessarily follow that they are positive,’ she countered, trying to mimic the stiff conversation layered in hidden meaning she'd observed over the last few months. 

His eyes twinkled almost imperceptibly, a minuscule sign that he appreciated her answer. ‘I’m sure my brother would agree. I believe he came to Potter Manor at New Year's?’

Hermione nodded politely, searching for the right words to keep him on side. ‘He was mostly in the company of James and the young ladies of Gryffindor. I’m afraid we avoid crossing paths as a rule.’ 

His piercing grey eyes stared intensely at her. His gaze felt ominous, a moment of stillness before an inevitable attack. Her body stiffened, poised to act if the worst happened. 

Hermione raised her Occlumency shields as she felt the telltale tickle of Legilimency on her brain, trying not to panic. She breathed evenly, reminding herself she had been trained for this. There was a fortress within her mind. Strong, unyielding, impenetrable. No 16-year-old Wizard would have a chance against it. 

Her walls held firm, and Regulus smirked at her in response. Feeling the tendrils of his Legilimency recede, Hermione breathed more evenly, allowing her muscles to relax. This was a test, of course, and she believed she had passed. 

‘I heard he wasn’t fond of your reading materials,’ Regulus said lightly.

‘I have found him somewhat closed-minded in that regard. It’s a shame. I have the impression that Blacks have a lot of knowledge to offer. Certainly, more than the Hogwarts Library.’ 

‘It is a little bland, isn’t it?’ 

A few weeks later, Hermione found a gift waiting for her on her bed.

It was both a present and a warning - for whoever had left it had bypassed her wards.

She opened it gingerly, ‘Magik Most Evil: First Edition,’ with a stamp from the Black Library.

It was Regulus then.

She would have to be very careful around the younger Black brother.

 

...............

 

Hermione watched Regulus after that day.

Every time they stepped into the same room, the hairs on her neck would stand up, her body stiffening, reacting instinctively. Despite Regulus' perfect manners, his soft, cordial voice and gentle movements, Hermione would only interpret him in one way - a threat.  

He reminded her so much of Draco. The stilted mask he pulled down, the air of quiet disdain and nonchalance, hiding his true intentions from all around him. Not even his closest acquaintances seemed to inspire more than a careful nod or a wry smile. 

Still, she knew there was a sliver of hope. What he had done as R.A.B. was an act of defiance that seemed impossible right now. But then, no one would believe what Draco had done for her either. 

He was worth cultivating. 

Severus Snape was the key. One evening, Severus casually invited her to join him and Regulus at the library. After a few evenings of the same, an uneasy silence turned into an amicable one. When the blanket of familiarity wrapped around them, soft words followed - of suggestion, theorisation and finally, debate. Hours were spent debating magical theory, pushing the boundaries of what they’d learned at Hogwarts and considering ancient texts and rituals.

Throughout these tentative encounters, Hermione remained fully alert. There was no way she would let her guard down after what Regulus had done.

She couldn't help but warm up a little, though. The allure of Regulus' intelligence drew her in, and like a moth to a flame, he chipped away at her armour, finding her weak spots. Hermione Granger existed somewhere within her, and that passion for academic theory would never truly fade. 

'Reading up on wards, are we?' Regulus asked nonchalantly one evening when the sun was low in the sky, casting a warm glow from the library's windows. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, shutting her book on Familal Wards, which she'd snuck out of the Restricted Section. 'Of course. There I was, thinking my blood wards were strong enough, and some annoying Wizard proved me wrong...' 

'There's always a way if you're creative enough,' Severus smirked. 

'Or if your family passes down the right knowledge...' Regulus suggested. To anyone who didn't know him, Regulus would look entirely passive. Hermione was beginning to spot his tells, though; the tap of his left finger and the almost imperceptible twinkle in his eye told her he was actually engaged in the conversation.  

Hermione hummed. 'Yes, I've certainly found the Potters useful. I found an interesting text recently on Servitude and Ancient Creatures of the British Isles that's helped no end with controlling the Centaurs around our lands this summer. Last year, they were almost out of control...' 

Regulus' eyes narrowed, and the tapping of his finger stopped momentarily.

Hermione tried to school her expression and not reveal her triumph. Finally, she had him.  As nonchalantly as she could manage, she continued. 'Would you be interested in seeing it?

'Would you be interested in lending it?' Regulus asked stiffly.

'I suppose I could...' Hermione replied, holding his intense gaze. 

Regulus gave a huff and a short nod. 'And I suppose I could lend you a book on wards...' Reluctance was clear in his tone. 

Hermione gave a short nod in return. 'Sounds like a sensible trade,' she offered as lightly as possible.

The book arrived the following week, and the week after that, another. Soon, they were trading books almost daily and discussing them at length.

Hermione couldn't say everything she read would help her mission, but it fed her soul. More than that, it fed her mind and opened up a world of academic possibilities she had barely even considered before her fateful months in Malfoy Manor.  

A month later, she was reading about the prehistoric use of runes and realising their importance to the foundational knowledge of transfiguration. And yet, she never even heard of them before.

‘How is this not in the curriculum?’ Hermione sighed, frustrated, throwing down her book.

Severus and Regulus looked up and exchanged amused looks with each other.  

‘Do you think these dunderheads could handle it?’ Severus replied dryly. ‘It’s a wonder some of them can dress themselves...’

‘Okay, maybe not the Hufflepuffs,’ Hermione smiled, ‘but the rest of us could handle it.’ She would never be caught dead firing off House prejudice in her previous life, but needs must.

‘Your average Gryfindor has the intelligence of a goldfish. Too many bludgers to the head.’

‘For the most part, I’d say you're right, but unfortunately, our year has some exceptions, no matter how annoying they may be,’ Hermione chastised. There was no denying James and Sirius were gifted.

‘I don’t know how you live with them,’ Severus said darkly. 

‘I smile politely and secretly plot their demise, of course,’ she said slyly. 

Severus and Regulus both broke into a chuckle.

They were growing closer, but it was so unlike the friendships Hermione had ever known.

Trust was not a given. Hermione repeatedly pushed Regulus to tell her how he bypassed her wards, but she never got a straight answer. There was only one answer worth considering, which frightened her slightly. He must have had her blood. 

There was little she could do about it at this stage.

It did fuel her to start the next phase of her project. Draco insisted that she needed the right tools to perform Blood Magic Rituals against those who would be her enemies in the future. At Hogwarts, she had the opportunity to collect the blood, hair, and skin from soon-to-be Death Eaters and allies, and she must not waste it.

Her first collection was the worst. Despite Winston Goyle's leaving himself open for attack by falling asleep late at night in the Slytherin Common Room, Hermione still couldn't shake the feeling of how very wrong it was. As she stood over his sleeping form, she repeated her mantra: nothing was more important than her mission—not even her soul. 

With a deep intake of breath, she began- casting the spells needed to collect a lump of hair and a vial of blood from her, revealing the wound and pocketing her treasure before she could change her mind.

For a brief moment afterwards, she thought the guilt of it would crush her.

Instead, to her surprise, she felt nothing.

She breathed a sigh of relief. It wouldn't be too difficult to get what she needed from Parkinson, Black, Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, Lestrange, Rosier, and Doholov now. 

Blood meant access, and she would have plenty of use for that if she was going to win this game.

The darkness was beginning to seep into her.

Chapter 12: I:VII

The winter months were long and dull, with only the odd Hogsmeade trip, where Hermione could Floo back to London to get supplies. She snuck back treats to entice her fellow Slytherins, from decent wines, food, the latest fashion, rare books, and objects. They were nothing if not hard to please, but her attentions slowly began to chink their armour. 

One bright February morning, Professor Kettleburn had the bright idea to take the 5th and 6th-year Gryffindor and Slytherins together for a practical class. A new herd of Thestrals had been introduced, and they needed to be observed to see how well they were adapting to the Forbidden Forest.

'Those of you who can't see them, on my left, please', Professor Kettleburn said gruffly, watching with his one beady eye as James, Lily and the majority of the Gryffindors and only a scattering of Slytherins moved to where he was pointing. 'It will be your job to feed them.'

'How are we supposed to do that if we can't see them?!' Pernilla shrieked, folding her arms. 

'Any ideas, class?' Professor Kettleburn asked. 

'You can see where the leaves are being disturbed on the ground. I'm sure we can hear them shuffling if we're quiet,' Lily answered keenly.

'I doubt the Mudblood is capable of keeping her thoughts to herself,' Rabaston Lestrange muttered quietly.

A sea of low chuckles fanned out across the Slytherin group.

Professor Kettleburn narrowed his eyes at them. 'Those of you who can see need to get into pairs with someone from another house.'

A chorus of groans rang out. 

'No arguments!' Professor demanded, his hands held up. 'Your job will be to observe. The sheets are here, I expect a full inventory, or I'll keep you behind.' 

Hermione caught Remus's eye and raised a questioning brow at him. He smiled back easily. At least she had a partner she could stand to be with for an hour, and he was certainly a less controversial choice than Sirius or her brother.  

More surprisingly, Regulus turned, gave her a wink, and strolled confidently towards Sirius, who was looking at him murderously. 

'Come on, big brother, he said mildly,' picking up a sheet and nodding his head to indicate which direction they should head. 'Let's get this over with.'

Remus sidled up next to Hermione, and they shared a sceptical look. 'They're going to murder each other, aren't they?'

'It certainly looks that way,' Hermione agreed with a sigh, picking up a sheet, and then turning to walk in sync beside each other to find their targets in the herd. 

'I always wondered how they could possibly come from the same family,' Remus remarked. 

'Well, Regulus is much more like the rest of the Slytherins...' Hermione replied, pointing to their first target.

Remus hummed and cast a few diagnostic spells on the Thestral. Hermione quickly took notes.

They soon fell into an easy rhythm. There was something so calming and natural about being around Remus. Having someone who was her intellectual equal and easygoing partner was gratifying.  

'You've been getting closer to him...' Remus commented lightly.

'As close as you can get to anyone in a snakepit,' Hermione agreed. 

Remus gave her a hard look, scrutinising her openly. 'He's not your friend then?'

Hermione sighed. 'It doesn't work like that there, Remus,' she replied imperiously. 'He's a good study partner and an even better chess player.' 

'And that's enough?' Remus asked shrewdly. 

'Of course it is,' she snapped, ignoring the pounding of her heart.

Remus was right, of course. She was craving the warmth of her old friendships and their trust. Sometimes, it felt like her heart was hollow, a huge chasm within it that ached so keenly. If Hermione was to do what she needed to, that chasm would never be filled.

They were interrupted by the sharp, venomous hisses of the Black Brothers, who were a few paces away. Both their arms were folded, and they stood facing each other, eyes narrowed and bodies taut as if primed to strike.

'Mother wants us home straight away at Easter. There will be no dashes to play at the Potters,' Regulus demanded of his brother. 

Sirius scoffed in response. 'You're not my keeper Reg.'

'I'd rather not be. It's a thankless task,' Regulus hissed. 'You really don't help yourself, do you?'

'I can't help it if you're all so easy to rile up, can I?' 

Regulus' head turned towards Hermione at that point, and she raised her brows in question. He gave her a slow, lazy smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief. 'Touche, brother,' he said in a low voice to Sirius.

Sirius gave them both a look of thunder, huffed and then stalked away. Regulus gave her a cheeky bow and then sauntered off, following his brother's path. 

'Are they always like this?' Hermione whispered to Remus as they made their way back to Professor Kettleburn with their finished worksheet.

'It's got worse recently...' Remus replied.

'Why's that?' Hermione asked curiously. 

Remus smiled enigmatically. 'Can't you guess?' 

.......

 

Sirius wrung his hands out, pulling and stretching at them roughly until they almost hurt. 

His gaze was fixed on the Slytherin table, where his brother, his idiotic, evil little twerp of a brother, was casually chatting to Hermione. To all around them, it looked like a polite conversation, but Sirius knew exactly what was going on. His brother was leaning in, just that touch more that was polite, turning his body to face her as if she were the most interesting thing in the world.

The worse was Hermione was entertaining it. Nodding along, subtly turning her body and for what he could tell, humming in agreement at whatever vile nonsense was coming out of Regulus' mouth. 

Sirius' dragged his nails across the coarse wood of the table, splinters digging into his flesh.

He would not rise to it. He would not.

'What did the table ever do to you?' Remus said wryly, scooping some soup into his mouth.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at his friend.

'McGonagall will have your head if you damage it. Even in the name of being annoyed at your brother.' Remus replied. 

'It's not about him.' 

Remus scoffed. 'Of course not. He's just winding you up, Pads. If you let him know he's got to you, he'll only do it more...' 

'She shouldn't be entertaining him. She should know better...'

'She's her own person,' Remus sighed. 'Pretty uncontrollable, as far as I can tell. Much like someone else I know...' 

Sirius's nostrils flared then, a furious burning passion bubbling out of him. He couldn’t help but lash out. 'I'm nothing like her,' he spat out, standing up and slamming his plate down.

'Pads, I didn't mean...' 

But it was too late. Sirius had seen red, and all he could do now, was run. 

Quickly, he bound out the Great Hall, his heart pounding furiously, until he made it out to the quieter hallways beyond. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the image of Hermione's bright eyes trained on his undeserving brother of all people to erase itself from his mind. 

'What's going on, Black?' purred the coquettish voice of Marlene McKinnon.

'Trying not to burn the Great Hall down...' he answered darkly.

'You sound a little frustrated...'

'You could say that.'

Marlene gave him a hard look, stepping into his space, until her spicy scent surrounded him. 'We just lost our practice match to Slytherins of all people,' she huffed out, tracing his robes with her long fingers. 'I've got a bit of frustration I need to work out of my system myself...'

Sirius couldn't pull her into the nearby broom cupboard fast enough.

 

................

 

Despite all her efforts, Hermione remained an outsider where it mattered. On Imbolic, when the common room emptied, the Slytherins were obviously attending rituals she was not yet invited to.

Hermione tried very hard to not let it get to her. She knew this process would take time and was used to being an outsider from her experience in Gryffindor, where she never really completely fit in. 

In truth, she felt more like a Slytherin now. She was careful in her every thought, word, and action. She trusted no one, but knew that mutual support was essential to her goals. She was no longer earnest. That trait had been beaten out of her. 

Intelligent debate still stimulated her, but she was less invested, so she gained energy from sparring with those who were her equals. She no longer had to hide her wit, sarcasm, and quick thinking. It made her feel freer than she had been for quite some time.

Shaking off her idealism had been good for her in many ways. Months of debating with Slytherins, and reading oral histories and accounts from old Wizarding libraries had started challenging her perspective. They made her realise how limited she would be if she only viewed the Wizarding World through a Muggle lens. 

When it became clear how much she didn’t understand and how intrinsically linked it was to the rise of Pureblood ideals, she was incredibly angry.

Dumbledore was the main source of her wrath, for he was so big at influencing the Wizarding World in a direction that claimed to value the light but didn’t help Muggle-borns at all in the end. It was no good being righteous if you were dead.

Her loathing for Dumbledore was so visceral that it couldn’t be faked, and she used it to get closer to Regulus and Severus. 

She sighed dramatically one evening in the common room, throwing her book down in frustration, making the coffee table shake and a nearby House Elf squeal. If the former Hermione could see her now, she would be horrified. 

‘What has the poor Elf done to offend you?’ drawled Severus.

‘Fail to overthrow its masters,’ she replied. ‘He’s been here for decades, sweeping the same floors on Dumbledore's orders, never getting any gratitude. Surely it must be boring enough by now to start a revolution.’

‘Dumbledore defeated by a House Elf?’ Regulus chuckled. ‘That wouldn’t be good for his ego.’

‘The gossip columnists would love it too. Maybe they’d start digging into how flimsy and unworkable his ideas have turned out to be. Don’t get me started on how little we’re stretched in this place…’ Hermione ranted. 

‘Speaking of stretching ourselves, I’m considering a side project...’ Severus started nonchalantly, stirring his tea with his wand. 

‘Is it a mind-altering potion or a particularly gruesome Curse this time?’ Regulus replied with a lazy grin.

'Something for our enemies,' Severus said darkly, bringing out a book from his bag. A curse for a curse. 'Some of these curses are far too complex, such as the flaying curse. I think the modern Wizarding world could benefit from something quicker and more targeted. Especially in battle.'

Hermione hummed, listening intently as Severus and Regulus debated different ways of modifying the curse. It was academic.

Still, she could help the discomfort that spread through her bones. They were debating how to use magic to commit serious harm.

A slow, creeping buzz ran through her veins, and her skin began to itch. She hugged herself, trying to squeeze the discomfort away. 

When she saw Regulus giving her a hard stare, she rallied. She would give them some indication that she was with them on this. 'I wonder if you could combine it with Elemental Magic,' she mused. 'Perhaps if you could produce a flame, and these multiply and manipulate it, it could have a similar effect, and be less draining to your magical core...'

Severus nodded, and gave an impressed smirk. 

'How do we test it though?'

Severus shrugged. 'I've heard the Lestranges make use of their Elves...' 

Regulus gave his friend a look of thunder. 'That won't be happening,' he said sternly.

Severus held his hands up in peace. 'Of course,' he agreed lightly. 'I'm sure a few chickens from the paddocks won't be missed.' 

Hermione couldn't help it. She shuddered violently. 

Both Regulus and Severus turned to her with questioning looks. 

Her heart beat wildly, and she kicked herself for giving her nature away. Desperately, she searched her mind for an explanation. Ultimately, she decided that only a modified version of the truth would suffice.

'I'm squeamish, okay,' she cried semi-defensively. 'Theory, I excel at. When it comes to the practical, though...'

Regulus snorted, and gave her a sly smile, clearly impressed they'd uncovered her weakness.  'How do you cope with rituals?'

'Better than I used to,' Hermione said darkly. 'If you tell anyone about this, I will murder you in your sleep. I fainted at my first one...'

Regulus let out a booming laugh, his eyes sparkling with glee. 

Hermione flared her nostrils and drew her wand, pointing it at him directly.

'Alright,' Regulus laughed, holding up his hands. 'We'll never mention it again. You have to have some flaws, I suppose…'

'It's just that one,' Hermione said mock imperiously, lowering her wand. 

She and Regulus grinned at each other gleefully. 

'I've shown you mine; show me yours,' Hermione demanded. 

Regulus raised an arrogant eyebrow at her. 'Unlikely.' 

'We'll have to guess then... what do you think, Severus?' Hermione asked playfully. 

Severus smirked, leaning in for the kill. 'You did seem very upset at the idea of harming House Elves...' 

Hermione cackled gleefully. 'That's it isn't it?' 

Regulus huffed and narrowed his eyes. 

Hermione gave him an indulgent smile. 'Don't worry about it. I always thought House Elves were vastly unappreciated too.' 

Notes:

A massive thank you if you’ve kudos or subscribed. It’s always lovely to know people are reading along. I’m about half way through the edit, so plan to publish a couple of chapters every week.

Chapter 13: I:VIII

At the beginning of March, Hermione saw a threat and an opportunity. 

The rain was beating down on the library windows making them rattle and shake, but Hermione barely noticed. She was too wrapped up in her textbook to pay attention to anything as mundane as the weather, or her companions for that matter. That was her first mistake.

'Interesting reading,' Severus suggested with a wry eyebrow raise. 

Regulus widened his eyes, taking in the text Hermione had in her hand. The cover said 'Advanced Charms,' but the text was all Animagous Theory. 

Hermione thought her heart had stopped for a moment. She wondered if she had Slytherin skills enough to cover her instinctive reactions. Probably not. The way she was gripping far too tightly to the spine was a dead giveaway. Something that mattered to her was in her hand, and there was an advantage for others to know that. 

There was no easy explanation, no cover story that made perfect sense for Hermione Potter. The truth, that she has been considering the most useful ways to fill her time in these first few years of her plan, was obviously not a possibility.

Draco's warning swam through her mind - it would take months, maybe years for the Slytherin to thaw. In the meantime, they had agreed that she should try to pick up as many useful skills as possible. Having heard the legendary stories of Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs, she couldn't help but be inspired. Being an Animagous had significant advantages, and she had the time, skill, and motivation to make it happen. 

She hadn't planned on getting anyone else involved. 

Severus's gaze was too knowing, though. It was clear he could see through the crude glamour she'd placed on the text. If she denied what she was doing now, they would trust her even less. Her thoughts were racing through her mind as she considered how much to give away.

Perhaps this could be an opportunity...

She shrugged nonchalantly. 'Animagous Theory is fascinating,' she said mildly. 

Regulus's eyebrow arched even further, as he contemplated her intensely. 'You've been reading about it for a few months now,' he replied with a smirk.

'I have,' she conceded, speaking slowly to give herself time to think. 'Theoretically, it would be a useful skill to have. Especially given the unrest in our world...' 

Regulus sat up straighter, eyeing her with new interest.

Hermione tried her best to school her expression and ignore the thump of her heart. This was a risk. The war had not been mentioned in any of the conversations. She suspects it was discussed amongst the children of Death Eaters but away from her ears. It was dangerous to bring it up.

'It would certainly have its uses,' Severus agreed softly. 'If one had the time and skill to attempt such a thing.'  

Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Severus was taking a particular risk in admitting this, given that attempting this at their age was very much illegal. That spark in his eye was reassuring, though. The pursuit of experimentation, pushing the boundaries of what should be possible at their age, was clearly too much for Severus to resist.

How far could she push it, though? Could she really find a way to use this, and bend, twist and shape her relationships to suit her own means? Is that who she was now?

In the end, Hermione decided there was very little choice. The cards had already been drawn for her; she just had to decide how to make the most of her hand. There was nothing to do but reward Severus for his candor. 'Are you interested in a practical project this term?’ she asked confidently. 
 
‘Seriously?’ said Regulus, shocked. ‘That is impressive magic and takes forever. Not to mention hiding it from the Ministry…’
 
‘Well, we’re impressive Wizards,’ Hermione shot back. ‘Well, I’m a Witch, but…’
 
‘Edgar Bones noticed,’ Severus grinned slyly.
 
‘Alright!’ Hermione chided him. ‘The point is, we’re bored, we have the time, and we’re capable. It is such a useful skill. The idea that we can be that stealthy! Surely we all know that might be useful in our futures…’ 
 
‘We’re still in school, Reg,’ Severus reassured the young Black. ‘No one will believe it.’ 
 
‘So we try,’ Regulus sighed, resigned. ‘I’d feel better if we had a secrecy spell to cover all our tracks, though.’

Hermione smiled brightly, warmth spreading through her bones. She'd been thinking far too much like her previous self. Trust did not grow with Slytherins, it was never really there without guarantees, and this she could provide.

 ‘An unbreakable spell should do it,’ Hermione smiled confidently. Slytherins would never trust her if she didn’t put herself on the line after all.

Severus and Regulus nodded in agreement.

Finally, their alliance was strengthening. 

 

..........

 

Really, she should not be spending her time this way, Hermione thought idly as she wound her way up to the Astronomy Tower. Her best use of her time was acquiring skills and cultivating her Slytherin alliances. She knew this.

So why, every week like clockwork, was she compelled to seek out Gryffindors? 

Hermione sighed deeply as the answer revealed itself. That chaotic mess of hair, the boundless energy, the glint of mischief, and all-around goodness in his eyes. James Potter was too hard to resist. 

'Alright, Lady Potter?' he grinned.

Hermione scoffed, turning to Remus, who was raising a wry eye at her and taking some crisps from the bowl in front of him. 'You know I hate it when you call me that.'

'I do,' James grinned unabashedly.

'What do the Slytherins call you then?' Remus asked, making some room for her to sit. 

'Her-mi-one,' she replied with mock offence. 

'How dull...'

'It's better than Prongs,' Hermione scoffed. 

'Pish. Never trust a friend who doesn't give you a nickname.'

'Who said anything about trust,' Hermione shrugged popping another crisp in her mouth. 

'What would you call them then,' Remus asked, amused, before his face fell and he held up his hand. 'Actually, you might not want to answer that. I'm not keen to be the one to tell Padfoot if there's something going on with his brother...'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'They're study partners. And damn good ones at that.'

James' grin widened. 'Oh, you do know how to hit Moony where it hurts, don't you? Finding someone else to study with? Brutal...'  

'You two are completely ridiculous,' Hermione laughed, unable to help but catch these eyes and warm at their easy banter. 'Now enough about me, tell me what you've both been up to. As long as it's not another prank...'

Hermione heart grew fuller as she listened to their idle chatter. The warmth and the camaraderie were impossible to resist. How could she not bask in it, no matter the dull ache of nostalgia it pulled out from her.

It made her feel whole again.

 

...........

 

James Potter was not happy. This was a strange state of being for a person who was so wholly optimistic.

He had remained positive through years of rejection from Lily Potter. He had hoped, since Snape had been exposed for the bigot he was early in the year, that Lily would come around without his influence. He still couldn’t get her to look, listen or talk to him beyond the odd comment that he was an ‘arrogant toe rag’.

She seemed to get on better with his Slytherin cousin than him, which was wild considering all the school thought Hermione was a Muggle hater. Not that James believed it, he knew purity of heart when he felt it. He’d never given up on Remus in his darkest hours as a Werewolf or Sirius, no matter how epically stupid his stunt endangering the life of Snape was last year. They were family. 

It was hard not to be offended by the growing closeness of Hermione to his arch nemesis though, and even worse seeing Sirius grow angrier and angrier as she developed a friendship with Regulus as well. Regulus was the master at giving Sirius subtly sly looks when he was with Hermione - he knew exactly which buttons to press to wind his brother up. It had to come to a head soon. 

When he and Hermione meet the following week though, his schemes to win around Lily dominated the conversation. He ignored her advice, of course, and was unable to imagine anything more appealing than outlandish declarations of love that would be effective. 

‘She’s not that easily impressed, James, which is a good thing! She doesn’t care if you’re clever, handsome, or a Quidditch star, so you need to tone those things down and be more humble,’ Hermione implored as they munched on Sugar Quills and sipped their Butterbeers at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

‘You think I’m clever? Handsome? A prodigy?’ James asked incredulously.

‘That’s what you got from that?’ Hermione scoffed.

‘Well, it's good to know you’ve recognised my extensive talents,’ James said mildly, giving her a shit-eating grin.

‘This isn’t helping, James,' Hermione sighed with exasperation. 'You have no idea what will impress her. Do you even know what she likes?’

James shrugged. ‘Books? Flicking her hair? Rules?’

‘Well, that’s a lost cause then…’

‘Hey!’

‘If she likes rules, James, then perhaps it might not be so terrible to act a bit more responsibly?’ 

‘Should I get a pet?’ James asked, all wide-eyed innocence. 

‘You’re an idiot!’ 

It was a sentiment echoed by Remus, who would occasionally join them as well. The conversation would turn more to academic theory, or they would play chess. James noticed how much softer Hermione was with Remus than had ever seen her, almost protective. It took a lot to get Remus out of his shell, but James could see that he was slowly becoming more comfortable with her. Their chats were clandestine, though. Remus and James barely interacted with her outside of their little weekly bubble. 

That all changed early one Sunday morning when Hermione snuck into the Gryffindor dorms and woke James up with a flick to his ear.  

‘Piss off Padfoot!’ James mumbled, snuggling deeper into the covers. 

Water was unceremoniously dumped over his head.

‘What, you idiot! Too far!’ he said, shaking his head, and then, shocked, found himself staring into the placid face of his cousin.

‘Merlin Hermione, what are you doing here?!’ he demanded

‘Helping you,’ she stated simply into his gaping face. ‘What day is it, James?’

Recognition dawned on his face. ‘Lily’s birthday!’ 

‘And what idiotic gift have you got for her?’ she asked cynically, crossing her arms and giving him a knowing smile. 

‘Apart from my presence?’ he grinned.

Hermione scowled in response.

‘Alright,’ James cried appeasingly. ‘I got her a book okay? She likes books, doesn’t she? It’s the next in a volume on Charms she was reading.’

‘That’s not awful, actually. Wanna do better?’ 

He nodded mutely, scrutinising the package she handed over. ‘Pride and Prejudice: 1st Edition, with authors notes’. 

‘It’s her favourite book - a romance,' Hermione explained, somewhat patronisingly. 'It would help if you read it to understand her better. The hero is complicated and mysterious - so please, hold a bit more back.’

‘Complicated and mysterious - that’s me!’ James cried with a massive grin on his face. 

Hermione looked incredibly sceptical.  

‘How did you get in anyway?’ James inquired.  

‘Gryffindors are predictable,’ she scoffed. 

‘No, they’re not!' James cried, deeply offended. 'We’ll just change the password, you harpy!’

‘Are you going to solemnly swear that you’re up to no good?’ she said slyly, arching her brow.  

James' shock was clear. ‘What do you know?’ his voice hardened.

She merely smirked. ‘I know you’ve got a lot of secrets, cousin. I would say they were safe with me, but I know you wouldn’t quite trust me yet. Now - get up you lazy arse, you’ve got reading to do for your lady love.’ 

He sprang into action. Maybe today would be the day Lily fell in love with him. 

Chapter 14: I:IX

Reader, you will be unsurprised to hear that that was not the day Lily Evans fell in love with James Potter. Her present gave Lily pause, though, and was the first step on a long road to changing her perceptions of him.

Hermione was not a miracle worker. 

As much as she wanted to see her cousin happy, she had more important things to focus on.

She had chosen this moment in time for a reason: halfway through the first Wizarding War, where the tide was turning, and fresh blood needed to be recruited on either side. So she watched and waited, observing history coming to life in the most unexpected ways. 

She carefully read the reports of Muggle killings in the Daily Prophet each week, the whispers of discord at the Ministry, and disagreements between Muggle Rights and Pureblood Activists.

It felt so different from the War she had known. There were whispers of a Dark Lord in the shadows, but he was almost a myth, a story to scare children.

It seemed even those who were directly involved didn’t always believe the danger. 

She knew Dumbledore was observing his pupils, grooming those he deemed most worthy to become part of the Order. His keen gain swept over the older pupils in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, landing too often on the Marauders and their friends to be a consequence. More than once, Hermione had to dig her fingers into the table, willing her body to still and not jump over it to shield them from the harm he would do. 

That was not her fight. 

Recruitment of young Witches and Wizards was far more subtle within the confines of Slytherin. There was talk of ‘change’ and ‘influence’, but the Dark Lord's name was rarely mentioned in her company.

Hermione tried her best not to get too frustrated. It would take time, after all. 

One Saturday morning, she sat in her dorm perusing an editorial, shockingly, the Dark Lord was mentioned.

Realising her scrunched-up face was being scrutinised by Narcissa, she remarked, ‘It’s never a Dark Lady, is it?’ 

Narcissa snorted delicately. ‘You haven’t met my sister...’ 

‘Bellatrix?’ Hermione enquired, as mildly as she dared, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She pulled her Occulmancy walls down firmly. It would not do to relieve her first memories of running into that crazy Witch now and having to explain away a panic attack.  

Narcissa sighed in agreement. ‘We have very different priorities.’

’How so?’ 

’Bella is obsessed with changing the way things are…’

‘You don’t want to take over the world then?’ Hermione tried, in the most teasing tone she could manage.

‘Just Malfoy Manor,’ Narcissa replied smugly. 

‘Same thing, isn’t it?’ cut in Pernilla.

Hermione's thoughts were racing, working out how to use this conversation to her advantage. At some point, she needed to start setting herself apart, and this might give her a chance...

‘Well, I might have a go at shaping the world,’ stated Hermione boldly as she continued to flick through her magazine. It would be prudent to show that she wanted to be more than a society wife.

‘Don’t tell me you’re one of these modernisers, who doesn’t see the value in leading society…’ Pernilla cut in snottily. 

Hermione shrugged. ‘Maybe Bellatrix has a point. It can’t all be about a good marriage. Surely I can find someone who respects me as a Witch and wants to see me use my talent?’ She mused.  

‘You’re far too sane to be a Dark Lady, I’m afraid,’ commiserated Narcissa. 

‘Doesn’t that make me more dangerous?’ Hermione smirked, dodging the magazine Narcissa threw at her. 

‘Well, use your Easter break wisely then. There should be a Ball or two to attend to find your open-minded beau. I should be attending them all too - if family doesn’t get in the way,’ Narcissa added darkly.

Hermione raised her brow in question.

‘Sirius’s birthday,’ Parminda mouthed at her. 

Hermione tried to hide her frown. So, the Black family had something planned for Sirius’s coming of age. They couldn’t afford for him to not toe the line if he was going to inherit.

This wasn’t good.

 

..........

 

Hermione didn’t have time to catch either Black brother before boarding the train home for the Easter break.

But that ill feeling stayed with her, lingering in the dark crevices of her mind. This threat of a past she theoretically knew happened but seemed so urgent and real in the present. Sirius' family would let him be who he was. 

She tried to mask her worry; what good would it really do? The past would happens as it was always meant to. There was no benefit in her interference, as nauseous as that thought made her. 

Going through the motions, she boarded the Hogwarts Express, making idle conversations with Slytherins and watching the world go by from her window. Despite the sick feeling in her stomach, no one seemed to see that anything was amiss.

That restless energy stayed with her, though, the feeling of foreboding that something was coming and it wouldn't be good.

From the moment she arrived back at Potter Manor, James immediately sensed her unease. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Have you heard from Sirius?’ Hermione whispered. 

His brow furrowed as he shook his head. ‘We only just got back. He’s coming over after his birthday.’ 

James clocked the worried look on Hermione’s face. ‘What do you know?’ He implored seriously.

Hermione gulped, tracing her fingers against the worn sofa in front of her as she carefully considered her words. ‘I don’t know anything really, just that the Blacks have plans for him over the break...’

’Plans?’ James said tightly. 

‘Plans,’ Hermione confirmed, her eyes wide and pleading for him to connect the dots. ‘I don’t know exactly what… But, they won’t let him come of age and come into his inheritance without aligning with the cause, are they?’ 

‘I’ll owl him,’ James said immediately, sweeping out of the room. 

 

...........

 

Days passed.

That restless energy remained, buzzing around Hermione’s body, making her pace up and down the draughty hallways of Potter Manor.

Only now, she had a companion in her foreboding. 

James' letters and Floo calls went unanswered. Every hour Sirius didn't answer his two-way mirror made them more and more concerned.

Hermione thought they might wear away the threadbare carpets with their collective pacing. 

The day of Sirius's birthday came and went without news. Eyes were trained in clocks, willing time to go faster. 

They were just about to consider taking a more direct approach when the worst happened.

Without any warning, the bloody, battered body of Sirius Black fell through the Floo.

A dull thud rang through the air, and Hermione and James stilled, their heads whipped around, mouths opened with horror at the sight in front of them.

Sirius's body lay face down and twisted into an unnatural shape. Hermione's gaze lingered on the blood stains on his t-shirt and matting his hair. 

He looked almost lifeless.

It took a beat, but Hermione sprang into action. She saw enough bodies close to death in the war to know every second counted.

‘Call Euphemia!’ she barked at James as she quickly ran diagnostic spells. 

Quickly, she worked, uncovering each horror that befallen him with ruthless efficiency. Only the facts mattered now. Sirius had a collapsed lung, ruptured spleen, broken ribs, and was losing blood fast.

Every second counted, and experience taught her the order of healing could mean the difference between a lost limb and full recovery - or worse - life and death. She focused on stopping the blood flow and the intricate work needed on his lung, trying to ignore her growing sense of panic. 

As soon as Euphemia arrived through the Floo, Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding.

Euphemia was a Healer by trade, specialising in Accidents and Emergencies. The fact that she was here might be the difference they needed. 

Hermione dispassionately stated what she knew about Sirius's condition, taking a step back to allow Euphemia to do her work.

She watched carefully as Euphemia began her work, barely noticing as James came up beside her. If she had turned, she would have seen his expression, full of pain, horror and indignation that this had happened to his friend.

Sirius begun to shake violently, most probably from sustained use of the Cruciatus Curse.

It shook Hermione and James from their trances. 

'Hold him down,' Euphemia ordered, and James and Hermione complied. 

That watched, holding onto Sirius’s arms for dear life, for could have been hours (but was most probably minutes) as Euphemia worked on his lung and spleen.

Finally Euphemia sighed, wiping her sodden brow with the back of her hand, and rocking back on her heels. 'I think we've saved the lung and spleen. He’s lost a lot of blood, though. He should be at St Mungos.’ Euphemia said breathlessly.

‘We can’t,’ Hermione whispered, finally allowing the horror of the moment to wash over her. Her breath caught in her throat as she continued. ‘They’ll come for him.’ 

Euphemia nodded and squeezed her hand. ‘He wouldn’t have made it if you hadn't stopped the bleeding, you know. Thank you.’ 

Hermione nodded, turning away to hide her embarrassment. 

‘Let’s move him upstairs. I’ll call in for some supplies and equipment to monitor him. He’s not out of the woods yet,’ Euphemia declared as she finished her work. 

They slowly levitated him upstairs to a nearby bedroom.

Hermione sank into a nearby chair, but James stood motionless in the doorway. 

‘They actually tried to kill him,’ he croaked out, disbelieving. ‘He’s their son. What’s wrong with them? ’

Hermione had no words. 

‘How did you know? How did you know how to save him?’ He continued. 

‘Experience,’ she said softly, not knowing how else to explain. 

 

..............

 

Euphemia and Hermione took care of Sirius in shifts.

He needed to be watched for new fits, as his progress could stall every time he had one.

Hermione spend her days and evenings casting muscle relaxant spells wiped his brows, and gently hummed folk songs while James watched on.

Concentrating on the practically of caring for a sick patient kept her mind busy enough not to dwell on the crashing feeling of doom which threatened to overwhelmed. She'd been at a bedside, watching the people she cared about suffer far too many times. 

She'd be far too blasé about the reality of what she was doing.

How was she supposed to face the pain, the trauma and the loss that this generation would go through? How could she possibly stop herself caring? For that was what she had to do. There was no room for anything but ruthless pragmatism if she was going to survive. 

A few days later, Hermione was humming softly and mopping Sirius’s brow when his eyes fluttered open. Their eyes met, and Hermione was caught in the intensity of his gaze before he fell back into sleep again.

A cacophony of sensations washed over her: relief, warmth and affection. It was exactly what she shouldn't be doing.

To feel this way, and this deeply, was a dangerous, dangerous thing. 

Remus and Peter came the next day and started to take over shifts observing Sirius. He was growing in strength and beginning to wake for longer periods. Hermione knew it would be the Marauders who brought him back to himself. 

So she avoided when she could. Hermione took over the night shifts, preferring to care for him when his silver eyes could not catch her emotions.

The week after Sirius fell through the floo, he finally caught her awake playing the piano in the music room. It was the day before they were due to return to Hogwarts. 

That low, gravelly voice of his cut into her thoughts. ‘Bob Dylan?’ He remarked on her choice of song, surprised. 

‘Who doesn’t know Dylan?’ she replied as nonchalantly as she could manage, trying to sweep the image of his lifeless body from her mind.

‘Every other Pureblood I’ve ever met,’ he scoffed.

‘Well, you haven’t met the right Purebloods then,’ she said with a small smile. What else could she do but feign nonchalance?  

‘You’re right. Maybe Malfoy’s a Zeppelin fan. Does Parkinson sing Janis Joplin to get you to sleep? Maybe I need to branch out to meet my match…’

Hermione met his eyes then, taking in the sallowness of his skin and noting that at least those mercurial silver eyes of his held some sparkle. ‘You’ve already met him. You and James are a match made in heaven,’ she remarked warmly, getting a bit lost in the warmth of his gaze. 

‘He’s a prince amongst men, isn’t he?’

She nodded wistfully. 

‘Terrible singer though,’ Sirius finished. 

‘Awful,’ Hermione agreed. 

‘You win that battle of the Potters.’ 

Sirius sank onto a nearby couch, closing his eyes, completely exhausted.

Hermione watched him for a while until she was satisfied with all the signs that his health was improving. 

Turning to the piano again she began to tinker out the notes she'd learnt on her Muggle father's knee. That soulful sound reminded her of love, loss and all the beauty and pain of a road well travelled. 

Slowly, Sirius was lulled into a calm sleep by Hermione’s soft voice singing ‘Blowin' in the Wind’. 

 

How many roads must a man walk down, b efore you call him a man?

How many seas must a white dove sail, b efore she sleeps in the sand?

Yes, and how many times must the cannonballs fly, b efore they're forever banned?

The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind

The answer is blowin' in the wind

Chapter 15: I:X

Notes:

Mind the tags for this chapter (see end notes for details)

Regulus pulled Hermione into an alcove as soon as she arrived back in the Slytherin common room after the break.

To anyone else, he would appear completely nonchalant. His gait was casual, his arms tucked behind him, and he rested on one hip, with his face a mask of blandness. Hermione was beginning to notice his tells, though, no matter how subtle they were. The picture was almost too serene to be true. 

The revelation hit Hermione like a ton of bricks. Regulus Black cared about his brother. 

‘He’s alive,’ she told him dispassionately.

Regulus let out a long breath and nodded, no longer meeting her gaze.

Hermione scrutinised him openly, noting how his body sagged slightly and his eyes darted about. ‘You got him through the Floo, didn’t you?’ She continued. 

He did not answer, his expression blank as he stared firmly at the wall and breathed evenly. His silence was telling, though.

‘You saved him then,' Hermione confirmed, her voice softer now as she took a step towards him. 'He very nearly didn’t make it.’

Regulus's eyes snapped to meet hers, wide and pleading. ‘You can’t tell him that,’ he implored. 

‘Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of letting on that you care about something,’ Hermione answered sarcastically, crossing her arms.

‘Don’t joke, Potter. You’re clever enough to know what’s at stake here,’ Regulus said seriously. 

Hermione did. This conversation was dangerous on so many levels. She may not have taken this risk if she had not known the path Regulus was destined to take. She wasn't sure if it was Hermione Granger or Hermione Potter, who led her to speak next, but it was done on pure instinct. 

She grabbed his arm fiercely.  ‘Don’t give them any reason to doubt you then.’

Regulus nodded carefully, and a look passed between them that was almost inscrutable. Was it understanding? Vulnerability? Or, if she was very lucky, the beginnings of trust?

Hermione wasn't sure. 

 

............

 

Within the week, the news spread of Sirius’s disinheritance and Regulus's new status as the Black heir.

From that moment, Regulus was flooded with female attention. Eyelashes fluttered, whispers fell into his ear, and gangs of Witches followed his every move. Ambitious witches from Slytherin, Ravenclaw and a few Hufflepuffs looked at him like he was good enough to eat.

Hermione wasn’t sure he knew what to do with it. Regulus looked even more uncomfortable than usual, his body almost turning to stone with its rigidity.

Severus was beyond annoyed with the interruptions to their study sessions, the constant whispers and giggles too much for him to bear when they were trying to concentrate on the serious business of spell creation. His murderous glare wasn't quite perfected yet, though, and it didn't seem to put the admirers off.

Surprisingly, it was Hermione’s patience that broke first. 

The giggling got too much one afternoon. A high-pitched squeal broke Hermione's concentration when reading a particularly tricky passage in an ancient book about familial rituals. Hermione leapt up, packing her books, storming off, and dramatically throwing her bag on a table at the back of the library.

It wasn’t until she huffed down that she noticed the other occupants - Rabaston Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and Titus Nott.

‘What’s got your Hippogriff, Potter?’ Titus smirked, his expression curious as he eyed Hermione carefully.

‘Idiotic Gold Diggers,’ she replied grumpily, flicking through her textbooks as she lay them out to read. 

‘So severe on your sex?’ Titus replied slyly. 

‘It’s hard not to be when they’re that tragic,’ she huffed. 

‘Not throwing your hat in the ring to be the future Lady Black?’ Lucius drawled, his eyebrow raised cynically.

She couldn't help but let out an incredulous little laugh. The idea that she would ever be one of those girls who simpered after boys was too amusing to hide. ‘That is not my style.’

‘What is your style then?’ Rabaston challenged, folding his arms and eyeing her sceptically. 

‘Ignoring any Wizard who doesn’t understand my worth,’ Hermione replied imperiously. 

Rabaston scoffed. 'And what is that exactly?’ 

Hermione shrugged and smiled enigmatically. ‘Like I said, if you don’t see it, I don’t have any time for you.’ 

She leaned a little closer to a large stack of books that stretched to the giggling girls. Lightly, she tapped on the edge of the stacks, sending a bolt of energy through the shelves. The bolt struck the girls, causing them a slight shock. Surprised little screams rang out.

As they angrily dispersed, Hermione smiled gleefully and returned to her work, ignoring the gaping jaws of the men surrounding her. 

‘Now, Nott, hand over that Charms book before I really lose my cool,’ she stated simply, pointing at the book beside him. 

‘As the Lady wishes,’ Titus replied, handing over his copy. 

 

.............

 

Hermione could feel Titus watching her much more closely after that day. In the Slytherin Common Room, the Great Hall and their lessons, she felt the tell-tale prickle of awareness of his gaze on her.  

She couldn’t completely deny that his heated stares affected her.

There was something heavy in his deep brown eyes, a depth and maturity that she hadn't seen in her other housemates. Hermione told herself it had nothing to do with his broad, athletic frame and the handsome set of his jaw; she was beyond being affected by such things.

Deep down, though, she knew the truth. There was a spark of attraction there. Perhaps she was still human after all.

The last thing she needed to do was show Titus how she felt. Any indication that she was willing to compromise her (supposed) purity would change her fortunes. 

This would be the hardest part of her plan. Her fortunes rested on her ability to make strong alliances now.

At some point, she knew she needed to get closer to Voldemort’s inner circle, and her talents and tentative friendship alliances alone may not be enough. Draco had carefully made her consider that an engagement, or even a marriage, might be the answer.

The reality of that was so very different from the theory she had discussed in the library of Malfoy Manor. Hermione was now playing with the lives of very real Wizards, and despite knowing what was on the line, she didn't know how much she could fake. 

If it came to it, Titus was not a bad choice. He was certainly more palatable than Lestrange, Rosier, or, god forbid, Goyle. 

Titus was athletic and popular. He was a strong Quidditch Captain with the respect of his teammates and house. One day, he would make a capable Military Commander. It didn’t hurt that he was extremely easy on the eye. There was no shortage of women throwing themselves at him, but Hermione could tell he lacked a challenge.

As a second son, he would need to marry carefully for fortune, influence, or power. 

Luckily, he wouldn’t have to make that decision immediately, so Hermione could bide her time. 

Most surprisingly, after that day in the library, Malfoy began to take a calculated interest in her.

Week after week, a new text from the Malfoy Library arrived for her and a demand from Lucius to discuss its merits. She tried not to salivate over them too much, but it was hard. She had missed the library at Malfoy Manor. These books were seminal to an understanding of magic itself.

It took a few stiff weeks, during which Hermione was less than comfortable conversing with her former enemy, but eventually, they bonded over an interest in obscure ancient runes.

Eventually, she worked out Malfoy's play. He had a use for her. As a swift learner, he needed her to translate some obscure texts in her spare time that served some purpose or other to his father. It didn't really matter why- what mattered was that an alliance was being built. 

It was a full moon’s Mabon Eve when her first exposure to a more exclusive club of Slytherins happened.

‘Some fresh air, Miss Potter? 'Cissa and I are going for an evening stroll,’ Malfoy enquired politely. 

Hermione nodded imperiously. She walked with them, holding her head high and revealing nothing as they ventured into the Forbidden Forest, eventually finding a clearing flanked by half a dozen housemates, all future Death Eaters. 

A Goat stood tied up in the middle of the clearing. Hermione immediately understood that she was walking into a blood ritual. She had finally been invited into the inner circle.

This should be a moment of triumph, but she couldn't help the heavy beat of her heart and the shiver that ran down her spine, and she took in the dark, foreboding atmosphere. Something about the flickering candlelight, the dark robes and stony faces made her feel like an outsider in a dark ritual.

Hermione supposed she was. She had never been exposed to anything like it before as a Muggleborn.

Steeling herself, she concentrated on the academic curiosity it inspired. It could be worse. At least it was only an animal, she tried to tell herself. All she could do to hide her mounting panic was to raise her Occulumancy shields and hope her distress was not clear.  

‘Would you like to do the honours, Miss Potter?’ Malfoy asked.

It was so very clearly a test. Hermione had no choice but to agree.   

‘Of course,’ she replied, much more confidently than she felt.

Stilling her shaking hand, she took the knife with what she hoped looked like eagerness, waiting for their signal as the chanting around her began.

The winds whipped around them wildly as the rhythmic chanting swirled around the air. Shivers went up Hermione's spine as the atmosphere shifted into something raw, wild and dark.  

The low voice of Lucius Malfoy spoke above the chants, speaking of the ritual, of its meaning and the blood that would be spilt to renew the lands and their magic. This was everything Hermione had thought Witchcraft was before she knew it. Connected to the seasons, a wild, almost uncontrollable force that could be unleashed for good, but more often, for nefarious purposes. 

This was what purebloods had grown up with. Ancient rituals which required sacrifice and made them feel powerful. 

No matter how she felt, she had to do this. They would not trust her if she didn't. Hermione Potter was one of them. 

As the chanting reached the crescendo, without any real thought, Hermione plunged the blade into the goat’s throat, slitting it neatly. 

She couldn't hide the shake in her hand as she did so, catching Regulus' eyes, who gave her a knowing smirk. At least she prepared them that she didn't appreciate the sight of blood.

It gave her the licence to let down her Occulmency shields for a moment, panting slightly and widening her eyes as Lucius helped her draw out the blood into a ceremonial bowl. Her vision swam in and out of focus, but she held firm, watching carefully as Lucius taught her three the runes she should draw on the participants around the circle. Luck, Success. Protection. 

Stopping to still the shaking in her hands briefly, she then smeared her fingers with the fresh blood and drew protection runes on Malfoy, Rosier, Parkinson, Narcissa and Regulus Black, Dolohov, Crabbe, Goyle, and finally, Titus Nott, lingering a little to catch his smouldering gaze.

Finally, she drew a series of complicated runes on herself to complete the ritual. 

Exhausted, she almost collapsed at the end of the ritual, but Titus caught her in his strong arms. She leaned into it gratefully, unable to do anything but bask in his heady masculine scent, so warm and inviting. 

Hermione passed her first test. 

After what could have been minutes or hours, Hermione staggered back to the castle, soaked in blood, barely noticing her surroundings. 

Her gaze suddenly sharpened as they entered the Entrance Hall.

Startled, she saw the unmistakable form of Sirius Black coming towards her. She would recognise those ripped jeans, the Led Zeppelin T-shirt and confident gait anywhere. At another time, it would have brought her comfort and peace. But not today. 

The look of horror on his face temporarily froze her. His wide, soulful eyes were laced with incredulity, dismay and worse, a deep hurt. 

Hermione could only imagine how her blood-soaked form looked to him. Dark. Comprimised. A representation of everything he despised.

Luckily, she had no time to react. Titus softly tugged her away, and the moment was lost. 

What had she done?

Suddenly, she felt the urge to scrub herself clean. 

Notes:

Warnings for this chapter: Brief (non graphic) description of animal sacrifice.

Chapter 16: I:XI

‘For Merlin’s sake, it was a harmless ritual!’ sighed Hermione, tapping her feet and giving her adopted cousin a defiant stare across the table at the back of the library.

Hermione almost groaned at the attack. Of course, Sirius had told James about her blood-soaked appearance immediately. What else would he do? Hermione had heard the disgust in Sirius's tone when he talked about dark magic. James would want to know just how far Hermione had gone to ingratiate herself with the Slytherins. 

That black and white thinking extended to the whole of Gryffindor. After all, hadn't she felt the same once?

Now, she didn’t have a clue how she really felt. Guilty, probably, deep down. On the surface, though, her stubbornness rose, unable to do anything but defend herself against the inevitable backlash. 

‘Did the Goat think it was harmless?!’ Shouted James, jabbing his finger at her. 

‘Alright, Linda McCartney, how did your sausages feel about being eaten this morning?!’ Hermione shot back sarcastically.

‘Not the point,’ James raised his voice, spitting out every syllable. ‘There’s a reason those rituals stayed in the past.’

Hermione had never seen James look so commanding and righteous. A fleeting thought and a small tug at her heart followed: just like Harry. 

She knew she couldn’t give him an inch, though. Her perspective had shifted. That understanding of complexity and heritage that never existed had burrowed its way into her brain and created the seeds of doubt. It surprised her how much she wanted to defend this way of life. 

Besides, nothing could stop Hermione in the midst of a debate. 

‘Yes, there is, James,’ Hermione countered snottily, taking a deep breath and rallying for her lecture. ‘The Wizengamot, The Ministry, and all in sundry took things too far. They tried to replace the rituals that make us who we are and took away our ability to access large parts of our magic. These rituals aren’t dark, you idiot, even your mother takes part in some of them. They’re our heritage. Last night was about protection, and I’d slaughter a thousand Goats to give you that!’ 

‘It’s a gateway, Hermione, and you know it,’ James replied stubbornly. 

‘Well, it’s not my fault some wannabe Nazi took it too far,’ she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

‘What the bloody hell is a Nazi?!’ James demanded. 

‘Read a book, James.’

‘Is that your answer to everything?’

‘Knowledge itself is power,’ she replied snottily.

Remus interrupted them with a cough. Hermione's eyes shot towards him. She had forgotten they had company. His tone was soft and teasing when he spoke. ‘I think the rest of the library would agree with that one.  It might be good to have some peace to plan how you'll take over the world?’ 

‘Fine, I’m off to Quidditch,’ James said, throwing his arms up in the air, grabbing his bag and stalking out of the library, continuing to shout without looking back. ‘If you think you’re carrying this on at Potter Manor, though, you’ve got another thing coming!’ 

‘Aw, James, don't be a spoilsport. It’s Midsummer next, and everyone's usually naked. I’ll invite Lily over!’ Hermione called after him in frustration. 

Unfortunately, the lady in question happened to be at the table next to them and did not look at all pleased.

Hermione sighed and gave Lily her best sorrowful look. ‘Okay, that was too far. I shouldn’t have dragged you into it. I’m sorry, Lily,’ Hermione tried sheepishly. 

‘How do you know who Linda McCartney is?’ Lily enquired suspiciously.

‘She’s my fellow American, of course,’ Hermione replied confidently, trying to brush off her faux pas. 

Lily looked entirely unconvinced. 

Hermione took a breath and then tried to explain, recalling everything she'd read about in books about American Wizarding Culture. ‘Look, it was different where I grew up. Less closed off to everything. I don’t think ignorance helps anyone here, on either side.’

Lily’s eyes grew narrow, so Hermione changed tack. 

‘No Majs in the States get adopted, you know,’ Hermione said softly, trying to make Lily consider this from a different angle. ‘They learn about Wizarding culture and see it in context. They can make an informed decision about whether to follow the old ways or the teachings of a 'muse cum animal rights activist' like Linda McCartney.’

Remis snorted as Lily’s eyes softened slightly. 

‘You're welcome to come to the Manor for Midsummer and see. Euphemia does keep to some of the old ways. I promise to keep my clothes on if you like,’ Hermione smiled playfully.

‘I’m welcome in your house?’ Lily looked taken aback by that. 

‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Lily, but from James' point of view, you’re welcome to take over as Lady of the Manor as soon as you like,’ Hermione deadpanned. 

Lily blushed furiously, huffed, and proceeded to scribble notes on her parchment furiously. 

Remus eyed Hermione pointedly. She gave him an appeasing stare back. Yes, she was completely aware she’d messed that one up; thank you very much.

A rare smile from the young Werewolf followed.

 

...............

 

At the beginning of June, Hermione, Severus, and Regulus were finally ready to take the final step on their road to becoming Animagi.

It had been a long, arduous, and uncomfortable experience. The leaves kept in their mouths for the past month were hard to be discreet about. She wondered again how James had the patience and dedication to go through with this, seeing as he was so easily bored.

In the weeks beforehand, they had spent much time idly musing over their animal forms, with increasingly outlandish suggestions being put forward.

‘No, Regulus, I’m not going to be an Octopus!’ Hermione grumbled. 

‘They are ridiculously intelligent, Hermione. Surely that’s worth having eight tentacles for?’ Regulus teased. 

‘I hope you’re a fly now so I can swot you,’ she spat back playfully.

‘Flying would be very useful actually…’ Regulus mused. 

One barmy Saturday evening, they all decamped to a clearing in the Forbidden Forest to perform the final rituals and attempt their first transformation. It was the transformation itself that concerned them rather than their forms. They knew how dangerous and precarious it was, with the stress on their bodies and the potential to lose themselves in the minds of their animal forms. They had trained themselves physically and practised their Occlumency to prepare themselves, but none knew what would happen on the day. 

Severus went first. Hermione's heart was caught in his throat as Severus cast the spell, willing with all her might that this went well, for her own sake and her now allies, who, despite everything, she had some tendrils of affection for. 

Regulus gave her a bemused look at her inability to hide her emotions. She tutted back at him. It wasn't a bad thing to let them know she cared whether they lived, died, or got permanently stuck as some God-Forsaken Creature.  

There was no need to panic, though. Severus was a talented Wizard, and the process was surprisingly smooth. Hermione watched with amazement as he shrank into the form of a bat, fluttering his tiny wings, and stumbling across the ground.

She bent down to admire him with wide eyes. ‘Well done, Sev, easy now. Don’t walk before you can run. Rest a little before you try to fly.'

Emboldened, Regulus followed. He stumbled a little in his spellwork to the point where Hermione's heart stopped in her chest for a moment. She was immediately relieved when he shrank down, and a crow stood in his place. 

Regulus the crow stood proudly, squawking at Hermione and hopping gently, to her great delight.

‘It’s so fitting!’ Hermione laughed happily. ‘How are you both able to fly? That will be amazing.’ 

Hermione didn’t think she would also have that particular skill, but there was only one way to find out. She emptied her mind and spoke the incarnation in her mind, breathing steadily as she felt her bones, muscles, and skin contract painfully as she shrank to the ground. 

There was a moment of stillness before she came to, and then an intense feeling of dizziness, as if she were drowning in new sensations. Every sense was heightened as she adjusted to the reality of this new body. 

There were no words for the experience of being an animal.

Hermione was herself but fundamentally different, as if driven by instinct alone. Her breathing turned into soft pants, and her senses sharpened as she opened her eyes. She could see so much more, smell the forest floor, and taste the dampness in the air. She scanned her surroundings and felt an unknown desire through her new body. The need to hunt.

She was not an Otter, then. 

Severus had changed back by that point, a little unsteady on his feet as he crouched beside her, reaching out to touch her fur. Her ears pricked up as she heard him whisper to her.

‘Hello, little Fox. You’re a thing of beauty, Hermione,’ he said in admiration. 

A trio of cunning animals played happily in the clearing all that night. 

Notes:

Linda McCartney was the famous vegetarian wife of Beatle Paul McCartney

Chapter 17: I:XII

Notes:

Mind the tags for this chapter (see end notes for details)

The last few weeks of the term dragged for Hermione. After a full year of scheming at Hogwarts, she was restless for the freedom the summer holidays would give her.

It didn’t help that her dorm mates were in a foul mood. Pernilla still hadn’t secured a match, Parminda didn’t think she’d had enough fun yet to settle down (although Amo Diggory would disagree), and Narcissa was apprehensive about Malfoy leaving Hogwarts. 

It was hard to find much to like about the overblown, pompous prick that was Lucius Malfoy, but Hermione couldn’t deny he doted on Narcissa. If there hadn’t been a war looming, Narcissa had the potential to be far happier than your average Pureblood bride. 

Narcissa’s coming-of-age party in the Slytherin common room was the most lavish affair Hogwarts had ever seen. She had to respect Malfoy for sneaking in oysters, a mountain of champagne, and a real-life Unicorn. 

Still, Hermione wasn’t completely comfortable in such ostentatious surroundings, and instead of fawning over the livestock, she spent the party in a quiet corner with Severus and Regulus, whose wry expressions spoke to a similar exasperation with their host. 

Finally, towards the end of the night, she got the chance to get Narcissa alone. 

'A little something for you,' Hermione said lightly, passing Narcissa a carefully wrapped gift, hoping that it would pass the exacting Witch’s standards. 

Narcissa raised a brow and nodded in acceptance. She carefully opened the gift, pausing to admire the perfectly tied bow. Her eyes widened when she saw the intricately carved antique two-way mirrors inside. 

'A family heirloom?' she asked, surprise evident in her tone.

Hermione shook her head lightly. ‘A new design, actually. There is a wonderfully talented new silversmith working from Place Cachée. I believe he is from the Fehr family.' 

Narcissa hummed, her fingers skimming the edges of the design.

Her expression was annoyingly blank, making it hard for Hermione to detect if she had hit the mark or not.

Hermione continued. 'They work as two-way mirrors. I thought it might be a nice way to keep in touch with Lucius...' 

Narcissa turned to her, a small glint of satisfaction in her eye. 'It would,' she declared, giving Hermione a rare kiss on the cheek.

Hermione smiled in triumph.

Her most icy acquaintance was thawing. 

 

............

 

'Quit staring at my cousin, Pads,' James grumbled into his soup one evening in the Great Hall. 'She apologised for the blood ritual. Sort of...' 

Sirius' eyes hadn't left Hermione all evening, or for the past few weeks if he was honest. Even when he tried to distract himself with Quidditch, map making or another pretty Ravenclaw, his gaze somehow found its way back to her.

It wasn't like before. Since she'd arrived, he'd clocked her in every room they were in, and his gaze would drift to her curves, that wild head of hair, or the way she bit her lips so inticisingly. That, he could better understand. She was objectively gorgeous and full of fire - exactly his type. It was no surprise that he converted her, albeit in an abstract way. 

Now, though, something had changed. For some unknown reason, he couldn't help but try to work out what she was thinking. He would scan her face, trying to work out the minute details of her expressions and the story they told. It was becoming a habit.  

There was something wholly disconcerting about this state of being. It was such an alien experience for a young Wizard for whom interest in other people was limited to his closest friendships and his enemies. Sirius wasn't sure which of these two roles Hermione fit into. 

How could he help his obsession? That image of her blood-soaked and wild was seared onto his brain. It appalled and fascinated him all at once. 

But fascination was not healthy when it came to that witch. He only just run away from the darkness, there was no way he was getting sucked back down again.

Sirius took a deep breath and forced himself to listen to his friend's conversation again. 

'What's got you in a mood, Prongs?' Remus asked gently. 

'Detention with Lily,' James muttered. 

Remus hummed knowingly.

Sirius furrowed his brow. 'Isn't that a good thing? You want to spend more time with her...'

Remus snorted. 'I'm not sure being in trouble is going to help him press his suit...'

'But won't she see all the good he's doing?' Sirius huffed. 'Someone has to distract Malfoy so he stops targeting Muggleborns for punishments! If there was ever a reason to prank a Head Boy, this would be it...' 

'I'm not sure that's Lily's idea of a proportionate response...' Remus deadpanned. 

'Someone's got to take him down a peg or two,' James grumbled. 'Slytherin had never had so many house points, and I swear he's even got to Hooch. She should never have let the Slytherins ride on those new brooms...' 

'Malfoy's a git,' Sirius agreed, patting James on the back in sympathy, and narrowing his eyes at the Slytherin table.

The object of their ire was smirking at them, leaning in to whisper into Hermione's ear.

The worst of all was that she was nodding along, as if anything that came out of that snake's mouth was worth her agreement. 

Sirius shook himself and shot out a large huff of air. Thinking of that Witch was not worth his time.

He had to get a hold of himself. 

 

............

 

The last week of term saw a shift in the atmosphere. 

Darkness seemed to descend on the halls and cast its chilly gaze on the Muggleborns in the castle. A series of seemingly unrelated ‘accidents’ took place, from crashing brooms to tripping down stairs - all in plain sight. 

Hermione had to physically hold herself back from getting involved more than once.

At least she could observe that there were people who were willing to step in. James, who had spent the past year tutoring many of the younger Muggle-borns in basic defence spells for their households, found himself leading the fight to protect them. He even let Hermione draw protection runes over the rooms of the main targets with leftover pig blood, which was a testament to his taking it seriously.  

This was nothing compared to what Olivia Green suffered in her final days at Hogwarts.

Softly spoken and bright, Olivia was a 7th-year Ravenclaw prefect, destined for a Ministry career. Her last school days should have been happy ones, but she found herself at the end of Gawain Muliciber’s wand.

Olivia had been hexed before, of course, most Muggle-borns at Hogwarts had. The last time was in response to her turning down an amorous Evan Rosier in their 5th year, who demanded more than she was willing to give. To Purebloods like Rosier and Mulciber, Mudbloods were only good for one thing. 

On the final day before the Hogwarts Express left, Olivia stumbled into the Great Hall for breakfast. She was clad only in her underwear and covered in a litter of scratches and bruises.

Hermione's brow furrowed as Olivia stopped in the middle of the hall, her eyes unfocused and glassy. In a voice that seemed to come from the depths of her belly, Olivia loudly declared ‘I’m a Mudblood slut!', before promptly collapsing in a heap on the floor. 

The hall hushed in an unnatural silence for a moment before Gawain Mulciber's roar of laughter rang out. The 7th Slytherin and Future Death Eater rose up and stalked over to her, his gait cold and arrogant. With a smirk on his face, he spat in Olivia's face.

Hermione couldn’t breathe. He had done this to her? What’s more, he wanted everyone to know? 

After a beat, James sprang into action, bounding forward, removing his outer robes, and swiftly covering Olivia’s body.

’Move Olivia!’ He shouted to Sirius, Remus and Peter behind him. ‘Get the young ones out!’ 

The Marauders fell in line immediately. Sirius' face was thunderous as he cast a shield, and he and Peter levitated Olivia’s body out of the Hall. 

Whipping around, James turned his wand on Mulicber. 

‘Aaaaww, you want to avenge the Mudblood?!’ Mulicber mocked. ‘It’s hardly worth it. She knows what she is.’ 

In the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Lucius Malfoy subtly get up and move behind Mulciber. How did he look so calm and passive? Did he know what was going to happen? 

James' face was passive, but Hermione could stop his tells. He flexed the muscles in his hand, and his eyes twitched for a second before he swiftly cast a disarming charm.

Mulicber flicked it away casually. ‘You’re going to do better than that, Potter, if you want to play.’ 

James tested Mulicber's defence again with a series of hexes, making him stumble back and laugh more.

Muliciber had a mad glint in his eye as he fired off the next curse, shooting out a trail of thick black smoke. Whatever this curse was, it was dark. And, worse, dangerous. 

Hermione instinctively put up a shield charm around the young Slytherins who were cowering at the end of their table.

Slughorn, the only teacher in attendance, stood stock still, obviously in fear of a duel which far surpassed his capabilities. It was only when Lily implored him that he ran from the hall, clearly off to seek help.

The fight began in earnest then. James let off a stream of powerful curses, and Mulicber came back with worse.

Lucius remained still at the top of the hall, seemingly not getting involved. The look on his face told a different story, though. It was almost proud. 

Hermione shared a look of understanding with Regulus, Narcissa, and Carina Lestrange, the 7th-year Slytherin prefect. Their role was clear - to do what snakes always did. Protect their own. 

Working together, they cast powerful shield charms and shuffled the younger Slytherins out of the hall.

Amongst the bangs and the shouts, Hermione could see Lily and Remus doing the same for the Gryffindors and other houses in turn. 

In the meantime, Sirius had come up at James' rear, wand held high, ready to duel alongside him. 

Hermione had heard tales about Sirius' duelling prowess, but she'd never seen it in person. Until this moment, she had never appreciated just how dangerous he could be. That confident gait, the look of determination that said he would fight to the bitter end. 

Hermione felt like time stood still as she watched James and Sirius duelling Mulciber, their wands raised in fury as they unleashed a rain of curses on him. 

The confidence and certainty of their movements were breathtaking. Brave lions, protecting the flock, as they would for years to come.

It was hard to believe that it had once been her role. Now she kept her head down, protected young snakes, following the leads of Regulus and Narcissa, of all people.

As Hermione shuffled the last of the younger students out of the hall, she caught Remus’s eye and saw the horror she felt reflected in them.

It took three long minutes before Dumbledore and McGonagall came to put a halt to the chaos.

In that time, despite James and Sirius working to protect the hall and its inhabitants, Mulciber had ripped the place apart with the darkest Curses imaginable.

Her Occulmency walls cracked for a moment, letting the full impact of her feelings show. Remus gulped and gave her a nod of solidarity. 

The aftermath was grim. 

A couple of students caught in the crossfire suffered minor injuries, but it was clear that had it not been for James’ quick thinking, things could have been much, much worse. 

Mulciber was promptly expelled (which meant nothing, given he only had 1 day left at Hogwarts). The other 7th-year Slytherins questioned, although they couldn’t get anything out of them or Olivia Green, who seemed to have been under the Imperius Curse. 

The subtle smirk on Malfoy’s face wouldn’t leave Hermione’s face, though. There was no doubt in her mind that he was involved.

She had to remember how dangerous these people truly were. 

Notes:

Trigger warning: descriptions of aftermath of abuse in the second half of the chapter

Chapter 18: I:XIII

The relief that Hermione felt on returning to Potter Manor was palpable.

Sweet air filled her lungs as she took a deep breath and let out a loud sigh, closing her eyes to savour the moment. Finally, she was free again, to be something so close to her real self. 

When she opened her eyes, sharp grey orbs were staring back at her, twinkling with a feverish intensity. 

The power of Sirius's gaze held something different from what Hermione had seen over the last couple of months. It was warmer, more open and somehow less suspicious than the look that she'd got used to at Hogwarts - the one that told her she was a traitor, the enemy. 

Now, there was uncertainty. He looked as she was an object worthy of his study and he was trying to weigh her up. 

Hermione studied the furrow of his brow, his wide sparkling eyes, noticing how much younger he looked this way. His confusion was somewhat adorable. 

She wondered if James had spoken to him - after all, he was the only person Sirius seemed to listen to. Perhaps he’d seen her looking after the younger students in the attack in the Great Hall, or perhaps the fire of his outrage at her involvement in a blood ritual had burnt out. 

Or perhaps, it was Potter Manor. He and James must notice the difference in her as soon as she walked through these doors. Hermione was herself again.

Time seemed to stand still as they both lost themselves, adjusting to their new surroundings and unable to break the connection with each other. It felt to Hermione like there was an invisible string between them, anchoring to something warm, vital and real. 

Slowly, Sirius’s mouth curved into an impish smile that Hermione couldn’t help but return. They barely noticed James arrive through the Floo behind them, or the unmistakable sound of Euphemia’s light, quick footsteps in the hallway. 

‘Ah my babies have returned!’ Declared an excited Euphemia Potter as she bound into the Floo Parlour and swept Hermione into a hug, breaking their spell. 

Sirius chuckled with delight as Euphemia kissed him soundly on each cheek. ‘You look well, my gorgeous adopted son.’ 

‘Hey!’ James cried playfully. ‘Save some of that for me.’

‘There’s always enough to go around,’ Euphemia smiled, pinching his cheeks.

Hermione’s icy heart could help but thaw a little at the truth of it.

 

……..

 

They arrived home just in time for Midsummer, which against all odds, Hermione had persuaded Lily to join.

It helped that both Remus would be there. He and Lily had been Prefect partners for the past two years, and a good working relationship had warmed into friendship. Remus was her comfort blanket saving her from the potential discomfort and uncertainty surrounding James and Hermione. 

Most of all, Hermione suspected that Lily hated not knowing things so she wouldn’t dream of missing out.  

The day began with Hermione, Lily, and Euphemia collecting and arranging flowers for their ritual circle and making crowns for their heads.

Hermione basked in the warmth of Euphemia's light and catalogued every look of interest and awe in the rituals from Lily, thinking about what Harry's response would have been. She would never get to tell him just how lovely his Mother was, but she dearly wished she could.

For the ceremony, Euphemia brought out a chicken for their sacrifice, which would also act as the centrepiece for their feast.

The ritual was so very different from the one she’d experienced with the Slytherin’s. The atmosphere was light, the chanting soulful and sacrifice involved no blood this time. Nature seemed to approve, anyway. The winds caressed them gently and warm summer air enveloped them all in a layered of protection and comfort. 

At the end, Euphemia used her wand to draw runes of prosperity, happiness, and love close to their hearts.

They feasted around the bonfire that evening, a relaxed Lily tentatively opening up to James. 

Lily sat coquettishly a good metre away from James, her ankles locked around each other as she self consciously played with the hem of her dress. 

There was no hiding her interest though. The way her body angled towards James, the lean in and the fluttering of her lashes all betrayed her growing interest. 

Hermione watched on hungrily, unable to tear her eyes away from her past/future best friend’s parents getting to know each other.

Remus gave her a knowing look. 'It's strange to watch, isn't it?'

'I think I'm a bit of shock, to be honest,' Hermione deadpanned. 

'No need for that, she's still sat three feet away from him,' Remus said. 

'She's leaning in though. Are they talking,' Hermione said wistfully, looping her arm around Remus's and giving him a squeeze. 

'You're really invested in this, aren't you?' Remus chuckled. 'I didn't have you down as a romantic, Lady Potter...'

'I'm really not,' Hermione said darkly. 

'The unshed tears in your eyes beg to differ,' he teased.

She snorted and gave him a playful pinch.

‘Excuse me for having a vested interest. James could do a lot worse…’

Remus nodded in agreement, his eyes sparkling with warmth. ‘He certainly could.’ 

 

…….     

The days that followed were busy.

Hermione had many plans for the summer - she had objects to acquire and connections to be made.

One benefit of time travel was being able to predict the future. The summer previously, she had placed both Muggle and Wizarding investments, which were beginning to pay off. Her fortune was growing but needed further nurturing.

Hermione spent many afternoons in Diagon and Knockturn Alley, acquiring obscure books and items that would help her in the coming war. The attics of Potter Manor housed her potions, transportation projects (making Portkeys was fiddly work), and her experiments in communication devices. 

This renewed flurry of activity made her finally feel like she was doing some practical and useful for her mission. The slow, careful steps involved in creating connections was nowhere near as rewarding. 

James and Sirius were confused by her busyness, but not suspicious. They couldn’t understand why she would not make the most of their leisure time with Quidditch, Experiments, Games and Parties. Day after day they tried to embroil her in some scheme or other, but she managed to brush them off. 

There was no avoiding James’s birthday, though. 

A week after they returned, James Potter came of age, and nothing but the most raucous of parties would do as a celebration. Hermione did her duty and promised to help the boys set up for mischief. 

Half of Gryffindor was due to descend on the Manor that evening, and many other 6th and 7th years from other houses secured an invite, for James was nothing if not popular. Parminda was Hermione's only Slytherin ally - and as always, she was only coming for the sole purpose of her chasing boys. 

Hermione caught James early in the morning on his birthday. She knew she was unlikely to get a piece of him for the rest of the day as he spread the party spirit around.

She crept into his bedroom, finding him sound asleep, and snuggled up to Sirius.

‘You two look cosy,’ she whispered in his ear. 

James groaned, pulling his covers over his head.

‘Wanna join us?’ Sirius muttered sleepily.

Hermione couldn’t help the blush that spread across her cheeks and down her neck. Half naked Sirius, sprawled out like a Greek God propositioning her was enough to make any Witch come out in a cold sweat. 

Not that she would let him know that. She through a pillow at his head. ‘So VERY wrong, Black! Go back to sleep. I want to talk to my cousin.’

Thankfully, Sirius acquiesced. Hermione wasn’t sure she couldn’t handle any more flirting while he was half naked. 

‘Is that my first present?’ James said excitedly, pulling down his covers again and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and eyeing the bracelet in her hand.

‘It is indeed. And it needs a demonstration. Hold out your arm.’ 

James dutifully stuck his arm out, and Hermione began her work charming a thick solid gold bracelet around his wrist, which appeared, then slowly faded to invisibility. 

‘It has a charm so only you can see and feel it. You tap on it once to make it visible, twice to see a message, three times to write, and four to send. To write a message, you need to hold after tapping and visualise the words in your mind as if doing a non-verbal spell. I have a sister bracelet. See?’

The words ‘James Potter will never grow up’ flashed on the bracelet.

He grinned happily, tapping gently to try it. The words ‘I love having a sister’ flashed on Hermione’s bracelet.

She tried not to smile too widely as warmth spread through her body. It struck her then, that James really was her family now. The one she’d chosen, and would time and time again. 

Her heart whispered that she’d alway wanted a brother. It was what Harry had been to her, such a long time ago. Gulping down the feeling that getting this close was not at all sensible, she tried to steer the conversation to safer grounds. 

‘Enough of all that! Get up and greet your adoring fans! You need to prepare for Lily seeing you as an adult,’ Hermione ordered.

‘Lily’s coming?’ James' eyes widened.

‘Lily’s coming,’ she confirmed with a smile. ‘Try not to mess it up.’

James need not have worried. The party was everything he’d wanted it to be and more. 

The Marauders were known to throw a good party, but the infinite space and budget they had to work with made this one particularly legendary. The ballroom and grounds were decked with lush foliage, balloon arches, and interactive decorations to wow the guests. 

The party delivered on more than style, though. 

The feast was enormous and ended in a food fight. The fireworks were spectacular and the band played hit after hit, enticing even Hermione to join in the dancing, giving in to Amos Diggory’s undeniable charms.

Most importantly, everyone was extremely, extremely drunk.

Hermione caught Parminda hooked around no more than three Wizards, Peter throwing up in a bowl, and Sirius streaking around the grounds, only a sock covering his modesty.

She couldn’t deny the last experience was by far the best.

She had frozen when she saw him, unable to completely take in the sight in front of her. Was he really standing before her in almost all his glory? Was she hallucinating? 

When he saw that he’d caught her attention, he zoomed in on his prey. Warmth spread across her face as Sirius stalked up to her, eyeing her with his roguish grin.

Gods, that glistening tanned skin, the soft rug of the hair on his leanly toned chest - he was built like a Greek statue. 

The worse of it was the way that hair that trailed down, past his belly button, to that sinful ‘v’ which led to…

She could not think about it. Squeezing her eyes, she took a deep breath and cleared her mind. 

‘That’s not really what Muggle socks are for, Black,’ Hermione scolded, crossing her arms and shuffling her feet, trying desperately to hide the affect he had on her. 

‘Silly me,’ he purred. ‘Maybe you could take it off then.’

Her cheeks burnt wildly. There was no way she would… how could he suggest… she would not let him get away with that! 

‘I’ve got a better idea...’ she squeaked pulling out her wand and untying the scarf around her neck. 

As quickly as she could, she transfigured her scarf into a Nun's tunic, scapular, and cowl. Before Sirius could realise her intent, she threw the garments over his body.

Sirius gasped in confusion, looking down at his body to see what she had dressed him as. When the penny dropped and he realised he was now dressed as a nun, he roared with laughter.

Sirius wore it (far too well) for the rest of the evening. 

In the early morning hours, Remus staggered up and put his arm around Hermione companionably with a massive grin on his face. ‘We’ve got one more surprise for James, Lady Potter,’ he declared boldly. 

‘We have?’ Hermione questioned, very confused. 

‘Yep! To the Piano!’ He roared.

Her vision was so hazy now, dulled by copious amounts of Firewhiskey, she barely registered that he was steering her to the music room. 

The small gaggle of late-night owls followed them to the room, where Remus steered Hermione to the Piano stool, plonked down beside her, and pulled out some music for her to play.

Hermione was about to protest, but Remus’s look demanded compliance as he hushed the room.

Without warning, she started the chords to ‘Great Balls of Fire’, Remus’s impressive voice joining her. ‘You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brains…’.  

She followed as best as she could with the keys, trying hard not to get too distracted by what a revelation Remus was. He bounced up and down on the stool, howling the lyrics with joy on his face.

Hermione couldn’t stop laughing.

At the end of the song, Remus took a theatrical bow, leaving her at the piano, grinning as he shouted, ’She takes requests!’ 

And so Hermione continued to play, and the sing-along began.

Lily and Marlene led a rousing rendition of ‘Tiny Dancer’; she couldn’t help the tears in her eyes as Peter sang a choirboy rendition of ‘Let it Be’. James went with a very slurred ‘Hey Jude’, which sounded like 'Hey Dude' to everyone else, leading to cries of ‘Which Dude?!’

‘Sirius, based on who he was cuddled up to this morning,’ answered Hermione wryly.

Sirius stalked up to her like a panther. ‘Enough, you vixen! How dare you reveal our love to the world! I demand a song in retaliation.’ 

His intense eye contact never broke as he began to sing ‘Sympathy for the Devil’. He writhed about on the Grand Piano like an even more charismatic Mick Jagger, and Hermione was spellbound.

How she continued playing, she had no idea, and based on the hungry looks of the women left in the room, she was convinced there wasn’t a dry pair of knickers in the house. 

‘What are you singing, Lady Potter?’ Remus asked softly.

She started the keys to INXS's Mystify and realised her mistake. It hadn’t been released yet. Remus gave her an odd look through his drunken haze.

Dorcas Meadows broke the spell, sidling up to the Piano and purposefully shocking Hermione out of her trance.

She hadn’t had much to do with the Gryffindor Muggle-born, who was giving her a hard stare. Hermione gulped down her nausea and returned to playing without breaking eye contact while starting the chords to ‘Imagine’.

Dorcas had a beautiful voice, and it was impossible not to be moved by her voice and the lyrics. The woman was still staring at her and wouldn’t survive this war. 

The rest of the evening went by with a blur.

At the end of the night, they decamped to the terrace, where garden furniture was covered in cushions and warming charms were put in place.

Hermione was drunk, tired and utterly content. A warmth spread through her bones that she hadn’t felt for an age.

Sinking down onto a mountain of cushions, she found herself snuggled between the warm bodies of Remus and Sirius. It seemed so natural to burying in further, winding her body around theirs.

Their rich scents and slow breaths the ultimate comfort blanket. Growing more and more relaxed, slowly she fell deep into a restless slumber.

In her dreams, she couldn’t help but think she didn’t deserve the comfort they were giving her.

Chapter 19: I:XIV

The summer was in full swing.

As July turned into August, Hermione attended a very different gathering - tea with Narcissa at Black Manor. 

At least, she reasoned, Narcissa lived at Black Manor, not Grimmauld Place. Hermione didn't know if she could keep her feelings in check going back to that place, with all its haunting memories.

Hermione's heart was still beating wildly as she arrived through the Floo, impeccably timed and dressed, with a gift of Narcissa's favourite fondant fancies. Nervousness about social engagements was a new and uncomfortable feeling. But this mattered. Keeping up with her tentative alliances in Slytherin was hard over the summer holidays, and she needed to take every opportunity to ingratiate herself. 

Taking a steelly breath, she cast her eyes around her surroundings. The furnishings were deep, dark and rich, with objects dotted around that Hermione would never dare to touch. The dark green walls and heavy brocade curtains had the same oppressive feeling of Grimmauld, but at least here the windows were large, opening up to a beautiful view of the countryside beyond. Hermione's shoulders relaxed, content that Black Manor was much less ominous than she expected.

A diminutive, proud-looking Elf apparated into the room, gave a flutterly little bow, and gestured for her to follow. 'Par ici, si vous plait.' 

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. Of course, their elves were French. 

The elf steered her into the small Orangery at the back of the house, where Narcissa was sitting perched on an intricately carved chair, her back straight and head held high. The epitome of a young lady. 

She smiled demurely when she saw Hermione, standing with the grace of a ballerina, and making to air kiss each cheek. 'Welcome. It's delightful to see you.' 

'You too. You're very kind to invite me here,' Hermione offered.

'Not at all,' Narcissa said graciously, with all the practised ease of a consummate host.

'Will your family be joining us today?' Hermione doubted it, given she was a Potter, living in the same house as their recently ousted nephew. It was worth checking if there would be any surprises. 

Narcissa's face was a picture of blandness. 'They are all otherwise engaged. Tea?'

'I thank you, yes. Darjeeling, if you have it.' 

Narcissa gave a hum of approval, summoned her elf and gave the order. In French, naturally. It only took a few moments for the elf to return, a full tea set and petit fours laid out on a beautiful antique tray. 

After pouring out the tea, they chatted idly about nothing in particular for a good half hour. Hermione was getting slightly better at engaging in what she would have previously thought was bland small talk. Anything to get her closer to her goals. 

As time wore on, Narcissa's posture grew slightly less stiff, and her eyes brightened. That was when the conversation got more interesting. 

'You're lucky your adoptive Mother doesn't make you go to the events this season, it's been quite exhausting, and not always worth it, frankly,' Narcissa sighed, placing her teacup down after their second round of tea and petit fours. 

'Yes, I did hear the Goyle Summer Party was a wash-out,' Hermione replied with a knowing smile. 

Narcissa raised a brow. 'Let's just say the Malfoys would never let their weather charms fail like that.'

'I should hope not,’ Hermione chuckled, remembering she had thankfully secured an invite to the only Garden Party that mattered this summer: the Malfoys. ‘I am looking forward to that one and seeing you in your element.' 

'Yes, well, Lucius's Mother has been most welcoming of my ideas, thankfully. She's helping advise on the Nott wedding, and it's taking up much of her time...'

A picture of a frightened, meek-looking Lilliana Selwyn popped into Hermione's mind. 'Lilliana's strikes me as a bride who would be keen to keep others happy...' she replied carefully, not wanting to offend. 

'Quite. She's certainly biddable, but the Notts seem to like that. It's taken them quite some time to find the right bride...' 

Hermione raised her brow. 'They considered others?'

Narcissa gave her a sly smile. 'One of our dorm mates, in fact. In the end, Tiberius didn't like her strong-willed nature.' 

Hermione couldn't help smiling back. She didn't know this piece of information about Pernilla, and it was worth storing away for future use. 'How is our friend getting on in Bavaria?'  

'I haven't heard any reports,' Narcissa said idly. 'Favourable or otherwise...' 

'Perhaps Germanic Wizards will appreciate her straight talking?' Hermione mused.

'Perhaps,' Narcissa chuckled. 'Or perhaps, not...'

Hermione chuckled back despite herself. It was unlike any conversation Hermione would usually enjoy, but she was beginning to warm to Draco's mother, despite herself. 

'Something amusing?' a low voice interpreted.

Hermione turned to the doorway to find Regulus staring back at her, his stance formal, but his eyes sparkling with interest. 

'Depends,' Narcissa said lightly. 'How do you feel about the movements in the marriage mart?' 

'I get quite enough of that from my Mother,' Regulus said darkly. 'I shall leave you ladies to it. Hermione, could you please come and find me in the library before you leave? I have a book I'd like to show you...' 

Hermione nodded in agreement. 'That would be lovely.' 

When she turned to face Narcissa again, her eyebrows raised in question.

'What?' Hermione demanded.

'Nothing,' Narcissa replied slyly. 'Nothing at all...' 

Hermione scoffed. It was clear what Narcissa was implying, but Hermione couldn't see it. It would take a small miracle for the Blacks to betroth their heir to a Potter. The way Regulus looked and acted with her gave her no indication of anything but friendship, no matter how he acted when he wanted to wind up brother. 

............

 

In the middle of August, the Potters decamped to the World Cup in Bavaria en masse.

They were all Quidditch fans, bar Hermione, who was only interested in the opportunities it gave her to connect. 

James and Sirius's excitement reached fever pitch as they watched France and Brazil battle it out for the final, whilst Hermione chatted pleasantly to Remus at the back of the stands, willing the hours to go past until she could find some Slytherin acquaintances. She had secured an invitation to a party thrown by Parminda's very well-connected uncle, and she was determined to make the most of it.  

As soon as the match ended, she excused herself and wound her way through the crowds to find the Patel tent.

Walking up to the lavishly decorated gold brocade tent sparkling in the breeze, Hermione's breath was caught in her throat. The tent was set aside in a small glade, larger than any she had seen and flanked by Security Wizards. It was clear this was an exclusive place to be.  

Inside did not disappoint. The lavish Indian furnishings, fit for a Maharajah, were like nothing she'd ever seen. Rich, deep red and gold drapes adorned the edges, with high intricately carved wooden tables overflowing with food and drinks.    

The tent was swimming with the great and good of the Wizarding World. Winding through the crowds, Hermione spotted singers like a young Celestia Warbeck,  Pureblood royalty from across the world, and the stars of many an international Quidditch team. 

Finally, she caught the eye of Parminda, dressed up to the nines like a prize cow being paraded to the sons of the Indian delegation. None of them looked worthy of her. Parminda flared her nostrils and raised her brows at Hermione in an exaggerated display of frustration at her lot. Hermione chuckled and raised her glass in response. It was getting harder and harder not to empathise with her Pureblood acquaintances.  

A smooth voice interrupted her thoughts. 'Hermione?' 

Hermione turned and smiled at the elegantly dressed form of Lucius Malfoy, flanked by two Wizards she did not know. His hands were clasped behind his back, his expression open. 

Lucius gestured to his companions. 'May I present my cousin, Armand, from France, and I'm sure you've heard of the Santos family? George here will inherit the titles one day...'

'Delighted,' Hermione offered with a bow. 

They chatted amiably for a while about nothing in particular. The two Wizards were charming at first, full of easy smiles and light flirtation. Lucius looked on in approval that Hermione's presence had livened their spirits. 

After a while, it became clear that George Santos had drunk too much wine.  He began to lean in a bit too closely for Hermione's liking, and she had to dodge his hands when they began to wander. 

She caught Titus Nott's eye in the crowd, and decided to do what was completely out of character for her - play the damsel in distress. 

Titus caught her wide eyes immediately, his brow furrowing as he made his way through the crowd purposefully towards her. 

'Hermione, Lucretia's been looking all over for you,' Titus said smoothly, offering his arm.

'It was an honour to meet you both,' Hermione smiled, and took Titus's arm gratefully. 

'Excuse me, Gentlemen,' Titus finished with a bow.

'Lucretia?' Hermione whispered as she let herself be dragged through the tent.

'Reg's Aunt,' Titus explained. 'I have a feeling you're going to get on far too well...' 

Lucreatia Black was sitting on an elegant gold chair, which reminded Hermione of a throne. Next to her sat a strangely ageless-looking Wizard, whispering in her ear. Lucretia was humming along and sighing, a bored expression on her face. She looked up with mild interest when they walked up to her. 

'Tell me you've bought me something of interest, young Titus. These Patel Wizards have been nothing but dull sycophants.'  

Titus raised a brow and gestured to Hermione. 'May I present Miss Hermione Potter.'

Hermione gave a short bow, keeping her head high and eye contact with the formidable Witch. 

Lucretia leaned forward, her eyes looking her up and down assessingly. 'You are the one who is fresh from the Americas. I do hope you don’t have a dreadful accent?'

Hermione smirked and raised a challenging brow. 'I’m doing my best to cover it up...' 

Lucretia's eyes twinkled in response. ' A Witch who can learn to enunciate. How charming. Sit down, girl. You are the same age as Narcissa, I believe?

Hermione sat down and nodded at Lucretia. 'That's right. I share a dorm with her.'

'Well, that must be terribly dull for you. She always did spend half her time peering at a mirror...'

'I hardly notice,' Hermione deflected, leaning forward to give her confession. 'I'm afraid I'm usually peering at a book.'

'And what books do you peer at, dear? I hope it's not those terrible Werewolf romances...'

Hermione gave a hearty laugh. 'I'm more of a realist, I'm afraid. I do love a good period novel, but my main reading is academic in nature, and obscure books at that. I'm currently devouring a text about Mayan theories on the nature of time and space, and Elemental Magic and its roots in Transfiguration.' 

Lucretia gave a noncommittal hum. 'One must be passionate about one's interests. You could certainly have worse vices.' 

'And yet, it really doesn’t go down too well.  The way my other dorm mates are not a fan of academics.' 

Lucretia gave a wide smile. 'Perhaps they feel threatened, dear. You share with the young Miss Parkinson, too, believe? She should probably try reading a book. She might need to seek employment if her parents don’t find a match for her.'

Hermione gave a sly smile. ‘That would be a tragedy. Employment has value, I suppose. It’s good to be useful, but one should always have a choice about it...'

Lucretia's eyes lit up, and she gave a conspiratorial smile. ‘You do well in France, I think. One must be cutting to survive, and I expect you’d do better in mixed company than your average heiress.’

Titus leaned forward and raised his hand. ‘Hermione’s family are protective, Lucretia,’ he said in a firm voice. 

‘As are her friends, it seems,’ Lucretia snapped back, eyeing Titus knowingly.

Lucreatia turned back to Hermione. ‘Well, you are always welcome to visit my dear. Lord knows I could do with someone from my own culture occasionally, especially now ‘Meda’s been cast out and Bella’s too busy spreading her legs for that upstart Dark Lord…’

‘Lucretia..’ Titus cut in, warning clear in his tone.

Lucretia scoffed and gave Titus her most cutting stare. ‘Don’t start with me, young man. This war business is terribly dull. Not that I blame Bella for seeking comfort elsewhere, obviously. If her husbands anything like his father, he’s bound to have a Muggle family squirrelled away somewhere. Those Lestranges are hypocrites through and through…’

‘We’d better get Miss Potter a drink,’ Titus interrupted with a raised eyebrow, offering his arm to Hermione, who took it reluctantly.

'It's genuinely been a delight,' Hermione said to Lucretia as she was steered away. 

'I know, darling,' Lucretia called out as she left. 'Do try not to get stuck with anyone too dull and self-important. It's an affliction amongst our kind...' 

Hermione gave Lucretia a playful smile and a little wave as they walked off. Lucretia returned the arch smile, waved back and pulled a Wizard next to her into conversation.  

'Well?' Titus asked knowingly. 

'I'm in awe,' Hermione whispered. 

'She's quite something, isn't she?' Titus chuckled. 'I knew you'd be able to keep up with her. Not many people can, you know...' 

'Well, I can't wait to go to France next summer,' Hermione grinned back smugly.

'It's quite bohemian out there. Just make sure you take an escort.' 

Hermione hummed gratefully. Titus didn't need to know that nothing would shock her, given her background. She must play the sheltered Pureblood princess. 

They didn't get far. Titus was stopped at a nearby table by some old friends of his Father, and pulled into conversation about movements in the Wizarding Stock Market. Hermione sipped her champagne and tried to put on her best face of mild interest as she listened to the droning sound of the Wizards around her talking about a subject that had never interested her much.

She almost snorted into her glass when she caught the eye of Lucretia again, who was raising a knowing eyebrow at her. The old Witch had been right; these men of means were exceedingly dull. 

'Hermione, darling,' Lucretia cried, dragging her by the arm away from Titus, who gave an exasperated sigh. 'I must introduce you to Henrik. He's studying Elemental Magic at the Sorbonne, which I'm sure must be of interest to you.' 

'It is,' Hermione breathed excitedly, turning to face the boyish young Wizard Lucretia placed her in front of and giving a polite curtsey.

Hermione had heard a little bit about the Flores family. They were well-known and extremely wealthy Purebloods from Bavaria, so she expected formality. Unexpectedly, she received the opposite from Henrik. 

A warm smile spread on his handsome face. 'Lucretia tells me you have some theories on how Elemental Magic could be used in Modern Transfiguration?' 

'Well, yes, actually. It seems bizarre to me that it's not already happening. I just wish I had the time to study it properly...' 

'That is the benefit of mastery,' Henrik smiled. 'Perhaps I could tell you more about my experiments?'

'I would love that,' Hermione enthused. 

She spent the rest of the evening chatting animatedly to Henrik, enjoying the details of his learning, his quick, flexible mind and his lack of airs.  

'May I write to you, and send you the paper I wrote?' Henrik asked eagerly, as Hermione made her excuses to leave. 

'Please do,' Hermione agreed, allowing him to take her hand and give it a chaste kiss.  

Hermione made her way idly towards the exit, stopping at the cloakroom to retrieve her things. Just as she was donning her outer robes and making to leave the tent, a loud crack, followed by shouts, broke her concentration.

The sounds appeared to be coming from outside.

Hermione couldn't help following the crowds drifting towards the entrance. 

What she saw when she exited shocked her. A drunken duel had broken out between what looked like well-dressed Pureblood Wizards on one side and Quidditch players on the other. 

She squinted to try and make out the faces, gasping as she realised Rabaston Lestrange and Evan Rosier were amongst them. But why were they fighting Quidditch stars? Hermione had so little knowledge of the teams and the players that it was hard to tell.

'They're fighting Muggleborns,' she heard a whisper of disapproval behind her. 

Flashbacks of the other World Cup she had attended flooded her mind. Those Death Eaters in cruel masks, taunting and attacking Muggles. It was happening again. Or for the first time, she supposed...

In the haze of her confusion, she had drifted so close to the fight that a particularly nasty-looking curse skimmed by her, catching the sleeve of her robes.  

As she surveyed the damage to her robes, a strong arm pulled her backwards. 

'Let's get you back to the Potter's tent,' Titus said gruffly, steering away from the danger. 

Hermione gulped and nodded, catching the seriousness in his expression.

War had even reached these corners of the world, so the party was well and truly over.

Chapter 20: I:XV

The next couple of days were difficult.

Hermione listened to the Potters rage in embarrassment and fury at the behaviour of those whom she now needed to consider her friends. 

She could cope with James railing against the injustice of it all. He spoke loudly and passionately, getting all his frustration out, until his fire burned out. His anger was never really directed at Hermione anyway.

Sirius was a different beast. His anger festered inside him, growing and growing until it bubbled over and spilt out. Hermione was not a sister to him, to give the benefit of the doubt to. She may be a Potter, but she was still a snake - a symbol of everything he thought was wrong in the world. 

As he brooded, his intense stare tracked her every move, as if he were the predator, waiting to pounce on his prey. Hermione knew it wouldn't be long before she was caught in his clutches. 

'You're very quiet,' Sirius said cuttingly as they lounged in the library one evening. The fire had almost gone out, and James appeared to have run out of things to do with Lily that he could bore them with. There was only one way for this conversation to go.   

'What is there to say?' Hermione said quietly, not making eye contact.

The dam holding back his rage broke, and he leant forward, ready to strike. 'I don't know?! What happened in the World Cup was disgusting?!'

Hermione's tone was dull and lifeless when she answered by rote. 'What happened in the World Cup was disgusting. There you go. Do you feel better?' 

'Oh, I'm just peachy!' Sirius deadpanned, his fingers clawing into the Chaise Lounge he sat on. 

Hermione couldn't help but rise to the bait. She lifted her eyes to him and gave him her haughtiest stare. 'Really? You seem a little out of sorts...'

'Yes, well, your evil little friends attacking innocent Muggleborns will do that.' 

Hermione sighed and held eye contact. 'What do you want from me, Sirius?' 

He leaned forward further, his voice a low hiss. 'What do I want from you? What do I want? I want you to see reason!' 

Hermione flared her nostrils and crossed her arms. 'Reason is all I see. It's not easy being this logical in the face of dramatics, you know...'

'Better dramatic than downright evil! When are you going to admit your so-called-friends are arseholes?!' 

James let out a groan and threw his head into his hands, clearly bored of their bickering. 'Leave her be, Pads.'

'I'm not going to do that,' Sirius spat. 'No one in their right mind would hang around those idiots after that display.'  

'I'm going to bed,' Hermione sighed, closing her book, jumping up, and making to leave the room. 'There's no point staying here if I'm just going to be insulted.' 

'That's right! Run away from your problems!' Sirius goaded as she left. 

Hermione closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, taking quick strides out of the library, into the hallway and willing herself not to take the bait, go back and give Sirius a piece of her mind again. 

It was exhausting knowing he was right, but also that there was no way she could agree with him and stick to her plan. 

When she finally arrived at her room, she collapsed onto her bed, her body shaking with pent-up frustration. 

It felt impossible in that moment to go on like this. How much longer could she deny who she was and what really mattered to her?

Groaning with frustration, she threw her head back onto the covers. This pretending was unsustainable. 

She needed a release.

She needed a place where she could be free. 

Then an idea popped into her mind and stole her breath away. 

The Muggle world. 

It would be incredibly reckless. But the risks were minimal, surely? If she were careful and stayed away from anywhere her friends and family might go, could she make it work?

The faces of her long-forgotten parents sprang into her mind, making her heart pang. What she would give to see their faces, young and vital and untouched by war. That was far, far too reckless, though. 

Still, the lure of the familiar called to her. What she would do to have someone to talk to who understood her old life. A friend. 

Then it struck her. Auntie Patti. 

Patti was a hippie, known as spiritual, and a little bit odd in the Muggle world. In Hermione's youth, she often shared uncomfortable truths and seemed to have a knack for predicting future events, like the weather. Hermione often wondered if she was part-Witch or had some seer blood. She had a theory that Muggle-borns came from dormant magical bloodlines, so it would make sense for her not to be the only Witch in her family. 

So the next evening, she donned her floatest kaftan and snuck out of the Manor on a mission to find Patti. 

Hermione knew the bars and hangouts she'd frequented in the 60s and 70s, filled with musicians and artists. All it took was the right look for a pretty girl to get through the door.

Hermione sat at the bar for only a few moments before Patti grabbed her, her intense eyes gleaming.

'I will know you, won't I?' Patti implored.

Hermione smiled broadly and hugged her. 'I hope so,' she replied.  

That night they talked, drank and laughed until the sun came up.

Hermione was in her element. The music surrounding them reminded her so much of home, her parents' old records from so long ago. The pub in the King's Road was packed with artists and musicians, and she even thought she saw Jimi Hendrix at one point. 

The freedom was a sharp contrast to her life in the Wizarding World, full of secrets and lies. 

'Will you come back next week?' Patti begged at the end of the night. 

How could she resist? 

 

...............

 

The rest of her summer passed by idly, with a trip to the Shetlands with Severus and Regulus seeking rare ingredients for their experimental potions, a few more afternoon teas with Narcissa, Parminda and Pernilla, and a lot of time wasted at home with James, the Marauders and occasionally Lily.

It was all remarkably easy, apart from one stumbling block - the presence of Peter Pettigrew. 

'Pete!' Sirius's voice rang out as the Floo at Potter Manor whooshed into life on Saturday morning in August. 

Hermione's whole body stiffened, and her breathing deepened. It was stressful enough reading the Daily Prophet this morning, with the disappearances, Auror injuries and Muggle Rights rally planned for today. She didn't need that little Rat spoiling her day.

She vowed that no matter what, she would not look up from the paper she was reading. 

'He's not stupid, you know,' James muttered beside her, leaning forward and grabbing some toast. 

Hermione shot him a wide-eyed, innocent look. 

James leaned back and eyed her carefully. 'You don't talk to Pete like you do to Remus. Or Sirius even…' 

Hermione snorted. 'It's not like me and Sirius see eye to eye…' 

'You still give him the time of day though…' 

Hermione grabbed her own slice of toast and began to butter it aggressively. She wasn't even hungry. It was just something to do. 'I don't have to like all your friends, James.'

James sighed. 'No, but at least give him a chance. Things aren't great with his mum right now.' 

Hermione's eyes shot up as the telltale bubble of nausea rose in her stomach. Guilt. Her constant friend. The look in James' eyes was so scolding and pleading, it was hard not to relent. 

'I'll try my best to be civil,' Hermione agreed quietly as Sirius, Remus, and Peter entered the kitchen. 

'Hello Pete,' she tried in a neutral tone.

Peter looked so shocked at her lack of animosity that it was almost comical. 'H-h-Hermione,' he managed to spit out. 

Hermione plastered on her fakest smile and kept eye contact with him. 'So what are you all up to today?' 

Peter gulped, his eyes darting around nervously. 'Oh… well… just a trip to Diagon, I suppose. Got to go and get… some… supplies…’

Hermione raised her brows at James, as if to say, 'Why is your friend lying?' 

'Supplies, huh?' she probed, tapping her finger on the table.

'You know,' Sirius cut in lazily, draping himself artfully in the chair next to Hermione. 'A few quills, books, maybe a record…'  

Hermione hummed, trying to ignore his heady scent and the way the warmth radiated from his body next to her. Being around him was annoyingly distracting, especially when, like today, he was in a good mood. If she let herself relax, she was sure she would accidentally drift mindlessly into the crook of his arm. 

Taking a deep-centring breath, she assessed the situation. Working out what they were lying about was not rocket science. 'So if you find a Muggle Rights rally on the way, it will just be a bonus?' she shot back slyly. 

Sirius stiffened slightly, and she knew she had them. 

James jumped up and replied in a mock breezy tone. 'There's always loads going on in Diagon… let's go, shall we?' 

Hermione grabbed James' arm as she walked behind her. 'Take the cloak,' she demanded fiercely. 

James gave her an inscrutable look. 'I always do.'

 

............

 

Hermione's first Sacred 28 wedding in this time was an interesting affair. 

Euphemia had done her best to secure an invitation to Tiberius Nott and Liliana Selwyn's nuptials, to ensure Hermione kept engaged in society. This type of event was vital for Hermione to show she was a core part of society and build the connections she might need in the future.

The garden at Nott Manor was impressive enough in an austere way, but there was very little she recognised as the markings of a wedding. Bill and Fleur's light and simple affair was nothing to this. 

It didn't matter that she was well-briefed or carefully dressed, Hermione felt like she had stepped into an alien world. 

Her curious brain lapped up the rituals on display - from the guests forming a circle around a ritual altar, the chanting of ancient melodies, to the hand fasting ceremony between the smug groom and the nervous bride. 

Hermione was too far back to see the details. But the squeal of an animal and the blood red runes on Tiberius's face told her all she needed to know - blood rituals were involved. No one batted an eye, of course.

Hermione occluded throughout the whole ceremony. She followed Draco's advice on how to act. Nonchalant. Unmoved. Detached. The marking of a Witch who was born to be there.

Watching Lilliana Selwyn become Lilliana Nott was the biggest challenge. The young bride seemed like she was practically dragged to the altar by her father. The distress on her face was clear as she stuttered out her vows.

It was no wonder. Titus's older brother, Tiberius Nott, looked on with vicious glee, as if he couldn't wait to ruin his new bride. Hermione has to hide her shudder on more than one occasion. The future mother of Theo Nott did not deserve her fate.

All around her, the Sacred 28 acted like nothing was amiss. Bored expressions, longing looks towards the hospitality tents as if their only concern was when the wine would start flowing. Such was the harsh way of this world.

Hermione did her best to ignore her desire to rage against the injustice. This was her world now. She had to fit in, or fail. 

She rallied for the reception, focusing on making connections.

It was slow work. She was nowhere near the head table, where Tywin and Elena Nott, their sons Tiberius and Titus, sat with Lilliana cowering meekly beside them. 

A plethora of society heavyweights sat between them, with the Potters relegated to a back table with obscure relatives.

When the dancing started, Hermione was able to move more freely, although she was aware it wouldn't do to force herself higher up the unspoken social hierarchy without an invitation.

At one point, she noticed Death Eaters like Rolph Lestrange and Abraxas Malfoy eyeing her up speculatively, either for breeding or talent. They soon turned away, though, conversing between themselves about what she assumed to be much more important matters.

Occasionally, she would catch the whispers of a more interesting conversation: 'time for change', 'the cause' or 'remove the modernisers'. It was only vague snippets, though, nothing concrete to work with. 

Towards the end of the night, Regulus sidled up to her, offering her hand for a dance, which she took gratefully. 

'Has your mother made you dance with every unmarried Witch here?' she asked playfully. 

Regulus snorted lightly. 'Oh no, she's very particular. You're my only wildcard, and I've promised her I'm just after your mind.' 

Hermione laughed. 'I'm glad to hear it.'

They fell into a comfortable silence. Hermione concentrated on the music and the advice Draco had given her about proper posture and movements. She still felt a little out of her comfort zone in formal dances. 

'Are you counting the steps?' Regulus whispered in an amused tone.

'Certainly not,' Hermione replied primly.

Regulus chuckled, clearly unconvinced. 

'So what if I am?' Hermione huffed. 

Regulus' voice was low and teasing, 'I'm enjoying the fact that there is something you're not a natural at.'

'Yes, yes, laugh away! There's nothing wrong with preferring a book to a ball.' 

'Not at all. If only we didn't have obligations…'

The dance ended, and both Hermione and Regulus bowed gracefully, eyeing each other with amusement. 

Titus walked up to them and gave them both a short nod. He looked almost regal in his midnight blue robes, and Hermione couldn't help the flicker of admiration in her eyes. She held her chin up to try to appear as nonchalant as possible. 

'May I have this dance, Miss Potter?' he asked with a warm smile, holding out his hand. 

'Certainly, Mr Nott,' she replied simply, taking his warm hand and taking in a breath as he pulled her towards him. 

They danced in silence for the first half of the song. Titus kept a respectable distance between them, holding her away from him in line with propriety.

Still, this felt different. Their movements felt more effortless than they had with Regulus for some reason. His strong hold and the warmth of his hand falling lightly onto her back seemed to seep into her robes, causing the beginnings of something stirring in her body. Hermione felt hyper-aware of him. 

'What was Black teasing you about?' Titus whispered as her guided her around the dance floor towards the end of the song. 

'He was very rudely pointing out my less-than-flawless dance skills,' Hermione replied wryly. 

Titus pulled back slightly, a look of disagreement on his face. He pushed her out gently, twirling her around for the final big move of the dance, and then pulling her back towards him. 

Hermione couldn't help the small, almost imperceptible breath she let out. Titus smirked, as if he had caught it. 

'Nonsense,' he said in a low, gravelly voice. 'You just need the right partner.'

...........

 

On one of the last days of summer, the Marauders, Hermione and Lily took their Apparition tests. It was no surprise that they all easily got their licences.

Their success was followed by an impromptu trip to a beautiful waterfall Remus knew well in the Brecon Beacons.

Sirius sighed as they arrived, marvelling at its beauty. His family were not a fan of travelling beyond their properties, and rarely spent time in nature.  Moony, the sly dog that he was, always seemed to know the most interesting spots. Sirius mused that it was perhaps because of his Muggle mother. Anyone with a Muggle family seemed to have a whole other, much more compelling world opened up to them. 

He wished he could transform into Padfoot now and run about with abandon. 

Still, having Witches with them had some benefits. 

Behind a small set of trees that barely disguised them, Lily and Hermione were unsuccessfully transfiguring their clothes into swimwear that would cover their modesty. They both ended up in ill-fitting one-piece Muggle swimsuits, which were cut a bit too high on the leg and low on the bust. 

For once, Sirius was rendered speechless. 

'Close your mouth, Padfoot. I believe you've seen it all before - many, many times,' chided Remus beside him. 

'Not like that, I haven't,' he answered in awe. 

Sirius was vaguely aware that his attraction to Hermione was growing and shifting into something deeper. He tried his best to bury it deep in his mind, though, telling himself it was out of respect for James but also because he had vowed never to touch a Dark Witch.

It was hard to deny it, though, when she stood before him like a bloody goddess. Unhelpful, uncomfortable, powerful feelings flooded out of him, rendering his body stiff and his mind empty. 

He realised at that moment that his past crushes and dalliances were nothing to this. He'd never wanted anyone more. 

'If she catches you staring, she will hex you,' Remus said as a warning. 

Sirius shook himself out of his trance and made his way to the water, dipping his toe in and finding it cool to the touch. Without thought, he dived in, hoping it would calm down his racing thoughts.

It worked for a while. 

That evening, though, it came roaring back.

They invited a few more students over to Potter Manor to celebrate the end of the holidays, including Marlene and Parminda. They sat in the Pagoda at the end of the gardens on low couches covered with cushions, surrounded by warming charms, watching the sun go down and the moon rise. The music was upbeat, and the laughter flowed, and everyone drank far too much Firewhiskey.

The conversation started to get dangerous as Marlene led them in a game of 'Would you Rather?'

'Marauders' special ladies,' Marlene said slyly. 'Hermione first! James or Sirius?'

'Well, it's not going to be James, is it? We're cousins, for Merlin's sake!' Hermione spat.

'Tell that to the Blacks,' Sirius countered darkly. 

Hermione gave him an odd look for a moment before her lip curled into a sly grin. 'Remus, obviously,' she said primly.

Remus blushed furiously.

'Why obviously?' Sirius roared, extremely put out. 

'It is obvious, actually. Quite apart from the fact that he's the only one of you I could put up with, he's attentive, whip-smart and gorgeous. Just look at him,' Hermione gestured vaguely.

'I'm looking,' Lily hummed appreciatively, much to James' horror. 

'I bet he's good with those hands,' sniggered Marlene.

'Oh, he'd definitely know what he was doing,' purred Parminda, who lazily stroked Remus's arm. 

Sirius felt his body heating up. He knew Hermione was winding him up, but it still stung. He wasn't going to let her set the pace.  'New subject!' he demanded. 'Slytherins,' he threw out to the crowd provocatively.

'I've always thought a night with Parkinson would be interesting,' pondered James.

'What is wrong with you?' demanded Hermione.

'Hey, no judgement!' said Peter. 'It's Narcissa for me.' 

'She'd eat you alive,' Remus said in awe. 'Mine's Parminda, obviously,' said Remus shyly, earning him a kiss on the cheek from his paramour. 

Sirius sidled up to Hermione, fixed her with a heated stare. She looked on at him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, but did not stop him as he pulled back her hair, breathed in that infuriatingly rich scent of hers and whispered in her ear, 'I don't date Slytherins. But if I did…'. 

Sirius felt it. She tried hard but failed not to shiver.

His heart leapt, and his mouth fell into a triumphant grin. He knew she wasn't completely immune to his charms. 

'Titus,' Hermione countered sharply.

It felt like a slap in the face. He backed off immediately in shock. That bloody Witch knew how to hit him where it hurt.

'Merlin, yes,' agreed Marlene.

Sirius pouted, barely listening to the conversation as it continued. At least she didn't say Regulus, he supposed. That would have been a step too far... 

'I actually snogged Severus once, and I'd do it again,' said Parminda nonchalantly. 

'Way to kill the mood!' retched James, until he caught Lily's blushing face. Her embarrassment was clear. 

'You and Sev, huh?' James managed to keep the hurt from his voice. 

Sirius let out an incredulous little laugh. James had long lamented that it would take a miracle to get Lily to go out with him. No one would ever guess that that greasy git was his competition, though.

'Bloody Slytherins,' he grumbled, taking a large gulp of whiskey, and wishing he'd never brought the conversation up.    

Chapter 21: I:XVI:7th Year

James Potter had never been so quiet. Even when he was unwell or sleeping, he would moan, grumble or grunt.

It was as if the letter from Dumbledore had struck him completely mute.

‘Head Boy,’ Sirius whispered in a tone filled with wonder and terror. 

‘Yes, dear, that was what the letter said,’ Euphemia sighed exasperatedly. ‘You’re both going to have to say something more than stating the obvious. It’s been an hour now, surely it’s sunk in?’ 

‘It can’t be true?!’ Sirius whispered again, his eyes wide and pleading to Hermione. ‘He was in detention all last term!’ 

Hermione bit her tongue and did her best not to laugh. ‘Aren’t you always saying he’s a natural leader? Quidditch Captains have made Head Boy before…’

’But he’s a Marauder…’ 

Euphemia sighed again dramatically and rose to her feet. ‘Come with me, Sirius. Maybe some time processing this in the music room would do you some good.’

She bent down to give James a kiss on the cheek. ‘You’ll be wonderful, darling.’ 

Dragging Sirius out of the room, Euphemia gave Hermione a stern look which said, ‘Talk some sense into my mute son!’ 

Hermione would do her best. She knew of James’ potential and thought he could be a very good choice for Head Boy. She had seen flashes of it in his response to the Mulciber incident last year, and also from what she knew about how he’d saved Snape the year before. She needed to use this to convince him he should see it as an opportunity, whilst being mindful that Dumbledore was using him as a political pawn.

’Any words of wisdom to offer yet?’ Hermione coaxed, moving to sit by James.

James scoffed. ‘What was Dumbledore thinking?’

‘I ask myself that all the time,' Hermione deadpanned. 'But, actually, I think it’s one of his better decisions…’

’You do?’  

‘You’ve got it in you to be a bloody good leader, James,’ Hermione reassured him. ‘Dumbledore knows this. There’s a war out there, and Muggle-borns will be under even more threat this year. The castle needs you to step up.’

James grunted uncertainly.

‘You can be there for Lily,’ Hermione offered as a backup. 

‘I can, can’t I?’ He smiled.

‘Just don’t be naive about it. Dumbledore is using you both,’ Hermione said firmly, earning her an incredulous look from James. ‘Don’t look at me like that, it’s not in a wholly bad way, but you have to start seeing how he manipulates people for the ‘Greater Good’? 

‘Don’t use Grindelwald’s words to describe him,’ James roared. ‘He defeated him!’ 

‘He believed those words once,’ Hermione countered. ‘Why don’t you ask him about it?’  

‘Perhaps I should put you in detention for ‘disrespecting your elders,’ James grumbled.

‘Of course you should,’ Hermione said primly. ‘It would show you don’t have favourites, and Slytherin that you mean business. I’ll get some ‘street cred’ for defying my Blood Traitor family. Good start!’ 

James burst into laughter and pulled her in for a hug.

She tried her best to bat away. Ultimately, she failed. Like the puppy dog he was, affection from James Potter was too hard to resist. 


...........

 

The look on Lily’s face the next morning told a complex story. 

As Hermione stepped out from the Hogwarts Express at Hogsmeade, she caught Lily eyeing her Head Boy counterpart with a look of such suspicion, mistrust, hurt and reluctant admiration that it was a wonder that she’d managed to bite her tongue. 

Lily was the model of professionalism, though, and continued her role, coaxing and reassuring the First Years onto the boats with what looked like practised ease. Hermione watched on with amusement as the kids wandered towards the boats, and Lily shot James daggers at any given opportunity. 

‘She’s going to murder him, isn’t she?’ Remus chuckled with amusement beside her as he offered a hand into the nearest carriage.

‘Perhaps just gross bodily harm,’ Hermione deadpanned. ‘It depends if he pulls his weight really…’

’Oh, he’s going to pull his weight alright,’ Remus said wryly. ‘He’s too scared to do anything else…’

Hermione hummed in satisfaction. So that was how it happened. Those long hours in the Head's Office managing the growing threat would pay off for his love life. 

‘What does that look on your face mean?’ Remus questioned.

’What look?’ 

’The one that says you can predict exactly what’s going to happen….’

’Don’t be ridiculous,’ Hermione said primly, her heart beating wildly. ‘I just think some time together working on a common goal will do them some good…’ 

‘So he’ll wear her down with forced proximity?!’ 

‘You don’t think it’s possible?’ 

Remus hummed in contemplation. ‘It’s not impossible…’ 

‘Care for a bet?!’ Hermione teased as the carriage pulled into the castle grounds. 

‘Absolutely not. I’m not stupid enough to bet against you.’ 

For the rest of the carriage ride, they happily passed their time chatting about upcoming classes and theories about Ancient Runes. Young Remus was such delightful company, now he’d opened up to her a bit. Hermione basked in the warmth of her last encounter with a Gryffindor for some time.

As soon as she left the carriage, she said quick goodbyes to Remus, darting off to catch Regulus and Severus. It wouldn’t do to be seen spending too much time with the Marauders now that they were back at Hogwarts. She tried to ignore the pang in her heart when she considered her days would no longer be filled with relaxation and laughter.

At least conversation with Slytherins was so much easier now that they had embraced her into the fold. She fell into an easy, if more stilted, chat with Regulus and Severus as they made their way into Hogwarts, through its corridors and onto the Great Hall and made small talk with other Slytherins all through the uneventful feast.

Later that evening, the conversation got more interesting. 

Hermione sauntered into the Slytherin common room, her gait practised and confident, straight into a chair Titus Nott pulled out for her. She tried not to be too suspicious of the wide smirk on his handsome face.  It suggested he knew something valuable.

She would not give him an inch, though.

When he bent down slowly, she kept her back straight, gaze imperious and breathing even.  Even the tickle of his breath on her neck would not disturb her.

‘I heard I’m your favourite Slytherin,’ he whispered in her ear. 

Hermione shot Parminda a hard stare, but her friend and ally merely shrugged back nonchalantly.

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. It wasn’t the worst piece of gossip Parminda could relay. A little information was a good distraction from the bigger story they didn’t need to know. 

Rabaston Lestrange leaned forward and gave Hermione a sly, challenging look. ‘Proud of your cousin, then?’ 

‘Of course,’ Hermione confirmed, her eyebrow raised. ‘All success for our noble house should be celebrated, even if he does have a lot to prove.'

Rabaston nodded and leaned back, his hand stroking his chin, seemingly satisfied with her answer. ‘It’s a shame about the company he’s going to have to keep,’ he sneered. 

‘You underestimate her,’ Hermione shot back, unable to hide her instinctive reaction to protect Lily. Years ago, older Sirius had told them someone had tried to recruit Lily, so some of these people must be able to bend their beliefs to make that happen. 

‘And you steer dangerously close to Muggle-loving sometimes, Potter,’ Rabaston spat back.

‘I respect magical power and talent, Lestrange,’ Hermione countered. ‘Just because we have the advantage of years of heritage and ancient power passed down to us, doesn’t mean that occasionally, someone without that advantage stands above the parapet.’ 

‘Well, we wouldn’t be able to convert her to cause, would we?’ Rabaston scoffed.

‘Not with your powers of persuasion, Rabaston,’ drawled Snape lazily.

‘Oh, and you could do better?’ Rabaston questioned angrily. ‘Get us a nice pretty Mudblood servant for the Dark Lord?’

‘I don’t know, but we are trying to convert an even worse lost cause, aren’t we?’ Snape replied. ‘I know talent when I see it, and when it’s worth cultivating.’  

Hermione watched this volley with sharp interest. They had never spoken so openly in front of her about the cause, and she wondered what had changed to embolden them. Had she finally convinced them of her loyalty? She didn’t think she’d gone far enough to get there yet, she had still implied skepticism.

Perhaps, that didn’t matter for now - they were envisaging their role in the cause and the leadership they would need to show as 7th years now. 

‘There is a lot of work to be done to win hearts and minds this year, gentleman. Even our own may require some persuading,’ interrupted Titus, looking at Hermione pointedly. 

‘A good Slytherin needs to consider things from every angle, do they not?’ she replied, a challenging smile on her face.

‘What angles are they, Cariad?’ Titus asked, leaning in to consider her more closely. 

‘What is the world the Dark Lord promises, and how likely is it?’ She started questioning. ‘What are the possible outcomes? Who wins, who loses?'

'Big questions for a small Witch,' Rabaston scoffed. His tone was mild, though, with no bite behind his words. 

Hermione raised her chin in defiance. 'That’s just for starters. What are the tactics? Just violence? We all know that’s not the thing that creates real change. I’ve barely had anyone talk to me about this, let alone try to convince me.’ 

Hermione saw significant looks pass between the Wizards around her. Lestrange. Snape. Black. Finally, a nod between Rabaston and Titus sealed the deal. 

‘We’ve got some work to do then,’ Titus smiled, a predatory look on his handsome face. 

 

...........

 

Hermione had a significant problem to solve in her 7th year. That problem was Peter Pettigrew.

She wasn’t trying to change history. There was no changing his fate - it was too important. Hermione would have to sit back and watch as the little Rat betrayed his friends.

What she couldn’t have him do was betray her.

At some point, Peter would spill the Marauders' secrets to Death Eaters. Hermione had no idea when this would, to whom or why, but when it did, her openness around the Potters and interest in Muggle things could easily get out.

She needed to find a way for him to keep her secrets. 

She considered befriending him, but she knew it would be challenging. For a start, she found it impossible to warm to him. It was easier to fake alliances with Snakes than genuine connections with Lions. 

’H-h-Hermione?’ Peter stuttered in the library one day when she was studying with Remus, going over a runes translation. 

’What?’ She asked more sharply than she meant to. It always came out as far too sharp …

’Do you think you could go back to the first bit?’ 

Hermione sighed. ‘I’ve gone over it twice already. if you haven’t got it by now…’

’No, you’re right. Of course. I’ll just read it over again…’ 

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. For anyone else, she could find the patience. But not for him, never for him. 

Later, after Peter had packed up and scurried off, Remus whispered to her. ‘He’s scared of you, you know…’

Hermione scoffed. ‘That’s ridiculous!’ 

‘Is it?’ Remus offered wryly.

’Of course it is.’

’You’re not like that with any of the rest of us….

Hermione did not have a retort. 

As much as she tried, she couldn’t break her behavioural patterns. It was too hard to try to be his friend. 

Hermione told herself it was pointless anyway. The outcome would not be guaranteed, especially considering he’d betrayed friends he should have far more loyalty to.

The only option was to silence him, and that would require a Dark Curse.

Hermione knew this was coming. Her magic would need to be bent and twisted into something darker if she were going to succeed in her missions. All for the greater good. 

She went to work in the library the next evening, pulling out theoretical texts and then bringing in Severus and Regulus to debate potential new hybrid spells before practising and creating something that might work.

A permanent, targeted silencing spell.

It was a twisted thing, derived from the darkest of texts, seeped in ancient spells from a time when morality was less black and white. If her old self could see her now, she would be horrified. Not that it mattered. Boundaries were pushed, experiments were conducted, and the darkness engulfed her, sinking into her very bones as she bent pure magical force to her will. 

After a few weeks, she was ready to try it out.

Hermione chose an unsuspecting Slytherin second year as her test subject, not feeling too bad about her choice after seeing him constantly bullying Muggle-born first years.

She dropped him a note with some juicy secrets about his classmates, then discreetly cast the spells needed. Her whole body shook as the spell shot out of her, her veins buzzing with the raw power she was producing. When it was over, she was a live wire, a quivering mess. It took her three hours hiding in an alcove to calm her speeding heart rate down, and calm her body enough to be ready to face the world. 

The next day, she followed her test subject. It only took an hour before he tried to drop a secret. She observed him coughing and spluttering, unable to let the secrets in his mind free. Even Legilimency had no effect. 

Success emboldened her.

The challenge now was how to catch Peter unawares.

Hermione had been almost impressed with how sneaky and discreet he was, darting between lessons and turning up where he was least expected. She was finally understanding what he offered to the Marauders. He appeared constantly paranoid, so an ambush didn’t seem wise.

Hermione chose the slightly risky option of catching him when he was asleep.

James and Sirius had an early Quidditch practice on Saturdays, and she hoped Remus and Peter would sleep through them getting dressed and leaving.

So the next Saturday, she disillusioned herself, snuck into the Gryffindor 7th year dorm, and waited for James and Sirius to leave.

James woke with a yawn at dawn, throwing a Quaffle at Sirius a couple of times before he finally stretched and pulled his body up.

Seeing Sirius so adorably dishevelled, with his hair mussed up, made Hermione smile, especially given how precious he was about his hair looking perfect. 

As they dressed, she tried to ignore the very appealing sight of Sirius getting ready. It was very wrong to be staring at his chiselled back and lean, muscular thighs...

Why did he had to be so ridiculously appealing? 

Closing her eyes, she tried to think of anything else. Pernilla, having a tantrum. Goyle, eating breakfast. The sheer dullness of a Quidditch match...

Finally, they were gone.

Despite the snores, Hermione used her wand to detect that Remus and Peter were still sleeping. Breathing a sigh of relief, she found they were in a deep slumber. 'Dead to the world,’ her father would have said.

Hermione worked quickly, casting the spells and drawing runes on Peter's head with her blood, ignoring the shake in her body and the buzz of dark magic running through her veins. Somehow, it was easier the second time. 

As soon as she was done, she vanished the evidence and staggered backwards, breathing heavily.

Dark thoughts raced through her mind as she contemplated what she had done. Compromised her soul, by all accounts.

What else could she do though?

She would have to find a way to test it out, long before the time when Peter was going to be turned, but for now, she had done enough. 

It was hard to believe, watching the peacefully sleeping boy, that he had been responsible for so much heartache. He would never get the chance this time around, she vowed to herself.

Chapter 22: I:XVII

The first month of term was uneventful, with most 7th years heavily focused on their increased workload.

James and Lily appeared to be working well together, Regulus and Severus set up some new experimental projects, and Narcissa was missing Malfoy, but coping. 

Things changed in October, though.

The attacks on Muggle-born students happened so subtly at first that they were hard to detect. A trip here, and a fall there. Another student prone to hysterics in DADA. 

After a couple of weeks, it became clear to anyone who was paying attention that Muggleborns were being targeted. And Hermione could help but pay attention. After all, it was in her blood.

She was minding her business walking down the 7th floor corridor one evening, when she heard a bang, and then a roar. 

Really, she should have walked away. It would have been far more sensible for her long-term plan. Unfortunately, she couldn’t resist.

Turning the corner, her eyes widened as the smoke in the hallway cleared to show Sirius, eyes wild and unyielding, his wand raised, poised as if to strike an unknown assailant. 

It was only the second time she had seen him fight. Unfortunately, watching him in his element was as compelling as the last time. The poise, the fluidity of his movements and the sheer confidence blew her away. He looked magnificent. 

As the smoke dissipated, Hermione clocked two things. A group of third-year Muggleborns cowering in a corner behind Sirius, and the unmistakable form of Rabaston Lestrange shooting a hex. 

Hermione didn’t think; she just acted. Instincts guided her to throw a disillusionment charm over herself and hurtled towards the third years.

When she reached them, she cast another disillusionment over their cowering forms.

It was almost impossible to communicate with them, with the crashes and bangs that rang through the air. Still, she managed to spit out a few words. You need to move. Backwards, together now. Now right. Through here.

This carried on until she bundled them through a nearby secret passageway.

When they were all safely inside, she changed her voice and whispered more hushed instructions. Follow the passageway to the 5th floor. Go straight to the infirmary and tell Madam Pomfrey what happened.

The third years looked frightened beyond belief, but eventually complied. Hermine let out a sigh of relief and fell back against the stone wall. At least her disillusionment charm had held. Rabaston, Sirius and the third years had no idea who their rescuer was. 

After a few moments, a hush descended on the hallway outside. 

‘What did you do with them, Black?’ Spat out the panting voice of Rabaston Lestrange. 

‘What did I do with whom?’ Sirius replied cheekily, his voice strained. 

‘Fine,’ Rabaston huffed. ‘Have your way, Blood Traitor. There’ll be plenty more opportunities.’

’I doubt it. I know who you are now.’

Rabaston’s laugh was chilling. ‘Don’t be naive. As if you don’t know how many of us there are…’

Hermione sucked in a breath, listening to final sounds of muted hexes, further away than before, and then, what sounded like a body staggering through the hallway. 

A moment later, the portrait hiding the passageway swung open, and Sirius sauntered in as if he were going for a walk in the park. Only his slight limp gave away that he’d just been in battle.

There was no point hiding her presence. He obviously had the Marauder's Map on him, and she’d given herself away.

’Fancy seeing you here, kitten,’ he drawled.  

Hermione huffed and removed her disillusionment charm. It was obviously pointless. ‘I was looking for some peace and quiet. You spoiled it.’ 

Sirius' eyes twinkled in triumph. Slowly, he sidled up to her, not breaking eye contact. ‘And you just happened to rescue some Muggleborns on the way?’ 

‘What Muggleborns? I don’t see anyone else in here…’

’Oh kitten, do you really think those kind of games will work with me? They might be half way to the infirmary by now, but they definitely came through this passage...’ 

Hermione shrugged defiantly, holding his gaze.

Almost casually, he leaned one arm against the wall, next to her head, so his face was inches from hers. ’Careful. They’ll report you to the guild of Slytherin’s for that sort of thing.’

’It’s lucky there weren’t any reliable witnesses, isn’t it?’ she replied snottily, ignoring the wild beat of her heart. 

‘Touche. I'm quite comfortable being an untrusted source to wannabe Death Eaters. But what are you really up to?’

Acting far too suspiciously apparently. Hermione took a deep cleansing breath, ignoring just quite how good Sirius smelt. There was nothing to do but deny, deflect and defend.

That, or run. Right now that seemed like the only sensible option.  

Hermione pulled herself up from under him, giving her most haughty look. ‘Going back to the snake pit, where I belong.’

She stormed out without looking back, her heart hammering wildly in her chest and a ringing in her ears as she went. 

Later, she would kick herself.

What she had done was foolish beyond belief. She had only just begun to gain Slytherin’s trust, and now she was pitting herself against them? If Rabaston had worked out who she was and what she had done, her whole plan would fall apart.

Two weeks later, there was another attack. This time, without witnesses.

Hermione met James and Lily in the Head's Office. She had told her housemates she would talk to them both about docking so many points from Slytherins, and what they were going to do about it. It was all a ruse, of course. 

‘I don’t know anything before you ask,’ Hermione sighed, collapsing into a chair opposite the worried-looking Head Boy and Girl. ‘They aren’t going to get caught if they can help it.’

‘We need something, Hermione. It’s impossible to organise a response without it,’ James implored.

‘You know who the suspects are,’ Hermione countered. ‘You have the same list as me. You should look to the cruller ones - Lestrange, Rosier, and Goyle as a starting point.’

‘No shit,’ James deadpanned. 

‘I can’t make it up, James!’ Hermione replied grumpily. ‘The endpoint is the same either way. You need to make sure Muggle-borns don’t go out alone. You train them to survive, both here and in the outside world. They also need to be able to protect their families, and Dumbledore and his haphazard Order aren’t doing nearly enough on that front.’

‘Well, we’re doing the first bit,’ Lily chimed in, sensing the conversation between cousins was not productive. ‘But training them is another thing. Do we do extra Defence lessons?’

‘Not enough,’ Hermione said gruffly. 

James scoffed.

‘Well, you asked,’ Hermione replied shortly. ‘You know how I feel about it. Those lessons don’t go far enough.’ 

‘So what’s far enough?’ James replied sarcastically. ‘Are you going to sacrifice some House Elves to save them?’ 

‘I’m not a Black, James,’ Hermione deadpanned.  

Lily looked very disturbed.

Hermione sighed and continued. ‘You need to teach them about Blood Wards, Elemental Magic, and some obscure Runes Death Eaters won’t recognise. Maybe something from the Norwegian sisters, or South America. I don’t know, get creative and use that big brain of yours!’ 

Hermione had a pounding headache by the time she returned to her room that evening.

It was exhausting not being able to help properly.

She needed to think about her long game, though, and make sure she remained focused.

 

................

 

The next morning, she felt somewhat more refreshed and able to join in with the idle chatter of her dormmates on the way to breakfast.

Hermione was getting used to the ebb and flow of it, the sly remarks, the cutting retorts and the subtle shifts in allegiance. Sometimes it was about the war, but more often than not, it was about something far more mundane. Familial politics, the marriage mart or worse, some trend in fashion or beauty. 

Still, miraculously, she managed to keep up, and her relationship with her dormmates was all the better for it. 

Even Pernilla had thawed in her attitude to Hermione this year, sensing she was now accepted into the fold.  

Their tentative alliance was not to last, though.

Everything changed one dull mid-October morning when a large, elaborately decorated package arrived for Hermione, inscribed with the Flores crest. 

Hermione opened it tentatively and pulled out a letter addressed to her from Henrik Flores, and an ornately carved hair comb.

It was beautiful. In her former life, she would never have recognised what it was, but she knew now - it was a courting gift. 

Hermione couldn’t hide her surprise when she quickly scanned his Letter of Intention. It stated his desire to start courting her formally. 

She had got on well with Henrik and had promised they would stay in touch, but it was one meeting. He was far too eligible to be openly courting a woman he had only met once.

Had he been that impressed with her? She supposed she didn’t fawn all over him, as she’d seen other Witches do. Was there something else at play here?

Pernilla’s face was thunderous, and suddenly Hermione caught on to her thunderous reaction.

It was Pernilla who had spent her summer months trying to attract Bavaria’s finest and come up empty-handed, and yet Hermione had secured a courtship after one meeting.

This was not going to go down well.

Narcissa looked very interested, and Parminda was positively gleeful, enjoying the potential for drama. 

‘What did you do, slut?’ Pernilla spat out venomously.

‘Are you serious?!’ Hermione replied, shock clear in her voice. 

‘Damn right I am,’ Pernilla retorted, emboldened. ‘Blood Traitors don’t get courting gifts without spreading their legs.’ 

Hermione was outraged. ‘Well, I suppose you would be the one who knows about that. I’ve never touched this man, or any other Wizard in this Merlin damn castle! Can you say the same?’ 

‘He won’t have you!’ Pernilla cried angrily. 

‘I don’t want him to!’ Hermione roared.

Pernilla threw down her cup and stormed off, tears of rage in her eyes. 

Hermione took a deep breath and ignored the incredulous looks and whispers of her housemates. 

She focused on the parcel in hand, considering the comb carefully. 

Henrik was lovely, but her plans didn’t lie in Bavaria. She could send the comb back, but she genuinely wanted him as a friend and an ally. She would need to bide her time and try to communicate with him in a way that did not offend him.

When she raised her head, she saw that Pernilla was not the only one who had a negative reaction. Titus was staring back at her, his gaze one of intense scrutiny. She was sure anger was bubbling under the surface, but he was Occluding hard.

It was good for her to know that Titus was capable of such advanced magic, and also, more importantly, that he had feelings for her underneath all that bravado. As Draco had told her many moons ago, feelings could be manipulated. 

James interrupted their staring contest, storming up to the Slytherin table, Sirius and Remus in tow. 

He grabbed the box and the letter, reading it without request.

Ordinarily, she would have kicked him firmly where the sun didn’t shine, but in these circumstances, he had the power. As the future head of the family, he had the right to know her affairs when it came to formal courting. 

‘There’s no need for that, James,’ she scolded. ‘He’s written to Uncle Fleamont. We will discuss it later, as a family.’ 

James regarded her with a hard look but gave her a stiff nod and took his leave.

Remus had the decency to look sheepish, but it was Sirus’s look that stopped her in her tracks. 

A mixture of hurt, confusion, and defiance showed back at her through his beautiful grey orbs, willing her to tell him she wasn’t going down this road.

She had no reassurances to give.

Notes:

I wans't expecting so many subscribers to this fic, so a massive thank you to anyone who is following along, kudo-ing and commenting. It means a lot x

Chapter 23: I:XVIII

Notes:

Mind the tags for this chapter (see end notes for details)

James Potter was in the middle of a daydream.

It was a common occurrence. Staring into the fireplace of the Gryffindor Common Room and watching the flames dance lulled him into a trance. It was about Lily, as always. That beautiful trip to the waterfall, where they'd swum and splashed and laughed in the afternoon sun. Lily's cheeks growing red as he'd swum up close to her, not breaking eye contact. The light freckles covering her chest, in that tiny little thing she'd called a bikini... 

‘James?’ The gentle voice of the Witch herself interrupted his train of thought. 

His eyes shot up. ‘Huh?’ He had forgotten Lily was sitting in the armchair right next to whim, along with Marlene, Remus and Sirius. He really shouldn't be having these thoughts when Lily was so close, especially when she'd only started being normal around him again. They were finally working well together, and maybe even becoming good friends, or perhaps if he was lucky, something more...

‘Can I ask you something?’ 

‘Always,’ he replied, sincerity in his tone. He noticed her eyes softening. Was that new? He didn’t think he’d ever had that look from her before. 

‘Is your sister okay?’ she asked in a soft, concerned voice. 

James's nose wrinkled in confusion at her question. 

Lily's brow furrowed, her lips parting for a moment as if she was considering how to explain. ‘In the Great Hall yesterday, she got a letter, and I’ve never seen the Slytherins so annoyed…’

’She’ll be fine, Lils,’ James promised. ‘It’s just courting nonsense…’

’Courting? She has a boyfriend?’ 

‘No, absolutely not,’ James said a little more harshly than he ought to. 

‘Oh Potter, don’t tell me you’re one of those misogynists who won’t let their sisters date?’ Marlene drawled idly. 

‘He doesn’t need to. Hermione doesn’t date,’ Remus cut in. ‘Have you ever seen her with a Wizard?’ 

‘Well, no, but…’ Lily started. ‘You said she’s courting?’

‘That’s different,’ James stated.

’Different how?’ Lily countered, her tone a bit more frustrated now. 

James face screwed up in confusion, as he tried to find out the right words. ‘It’s just… more formal, I suppose…’

'It's what Sacred 28 tossers do when they are considering getting married. There are about three thousand steps, and they are all completely poncy. I didn't think the Potters would be into it, to be honest,' Marlene said slyly. 

James shrugged. 'I didn't think we were either. We'll see what Dad says.'

Sirius let out a large scoff beside them. James hadn't noticed before just quite how tense he looked. His body was coiled like a tightly wound spring, and his face looked thunderous.

‘It’s archaic,’ Sirius spat out. ‘No one in their right mind would get involved with that sort of thing.’ 

 

.........

 

‘Go on then,’ Hermione goaded as she sank down beside James at the Astronomy Tower a few days later. ‘Let’s get it over with.’ 

James was bound to have a lot to say about the letter she'd received from Henrik. Hermione knew him well enough now to know the best thing to do was to let him rage for a while before he burned out. 

‘Sirius thinks you're mad,’ James started, turning towards her, his expression serious. 

’Oh well, if Sirius thinks that, it must be true…’ Hermione scoffed. 

‘You only met Henrik once!’ he roared, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. 

’I’m aware,’ Hermione deadpanned. ‘I’m not the one suggesting we court.’ 

James leant back, a look of confusion on his face. ‘So you’re not interested?’ 

Hermione shrugged and stared out into the distance. ‘He seemed lovely. But yes, it’s far too soon.’

’So you’ll shut it down?’  

Hermione shrugged. ‘Well, that seems a bit presumptuous...’ 

James’ mouth hung open. ‘I can’t believe you’re considering entertaining these crazy Pureblood games.’ 

‘There’s a lot you can’t believe about me…’

’You’ve got that right,’ James grumbled, folding his arms and staring out into the distance. 

It took a while for Hermione to speak again, and when she did, she did so quietly. ‘I’ll understand, you know. If you feel, at any point, that it’s easier to keep your distance from me. I know our priorities are completely different…’

James gave her a hard look. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re family. Nothing changes that.’ 

‘Sirius’s family are the Blacks…’

James' voice was low and confident when he spoke. ’No, we're his family. It’s not the same and you know it.’

Hermione gave a sharp nod. She knew all too well that James' loyalty wouldn't waver for this. But that wouldn’t stop her from testing his patience to the limit. 

............

 

Titus didn’t mention her gifts from Henrik again, but she got the sense he was plotting his response. 

So when he came to her on Saihaim and asked her to join him for a stroll, she presumed it was personal.

In retrospect, it was silly not to assume there would be another ritual, and another chance for potential Death Eater recruits to gather. 

Titus walked her down to the forest, his strong hand guiding her to a clearing, where she found Regulus, Severus, Pernilla, Narcissa, Winston, Rabaston, Evan Rosier (return to Hogwarts for the evening)  and his Ravenclaw cousin Septima.

In the centre of the circle was a dais with a skeleton perched upon it, a crup waiting at its feet, most likely waiting to be sacrificed. Hermione gulped, yet again pulling down her Occlumency shields to not show just how horrifying she thought that idea was. 

Regulus did the honours this time, ever the dutiful Black heir.

The soft chanting began as Regulus completed his work, the words low and guttural, whispering something dark to the wind. Hermione concentrated on her breath, willing her face to remain stony and impassive. Her vision swam slightly, and she had to grasp her hands together tightly, but she managed to get through it. 

As the blood of the crup trickled onto the skeleton, the future Death Eaters called to the spirits to honour them, appease them and allow the skeleton to be reborn. 

Slowly, the skeleton vibrated, drawing their wide eyes. Hermione couldn't help that her mouth hung open as terrifying muscle, sinew, and skin began to grow on it, creeping around the bone. Within minutes, a grotesque formed around it, its skin waxy and deathly pale, eyes sunken and bloodshot.

It did not speak or move. When the chanting stopped, it let out a guttural cry of horror, loss and pain, and then promptly collapsed. 

The howl of a wolf in the distance broke them from their trance.

It was a full moon tonight. Hermione hoped Remus was very far away. 

Rabaston laughed with glee. ‘We did it! We raised the dead! We honour the Dark Lord.’  

‘We might need to do it for more than 10 seconds,’ Severus deadpanned. 

‘Enough!’ Rosier silenced them. ‘We come here not only to stretch the boundaries of magic, but also to honour the dead, and the Dark Lord. Some of you have questions, I believe.’ 

He conjured chairs for them and gestured for them to sit. Hermione perched carefully, her legs closed, leaning forward to indicate her interest. 

‘The Dark Lord honours you with his interest in you,’ Rosier continued. ‘He has heard of each of your talents, your beliefs, and your interests in the cause. In time, he may want to meet you, and even offer you a place by his side, but for now, it is time to understand each other more.’

‘What does the Dark Lord want from us?’ Rabaston pressed. 

‘It depends on each of you, and what you have to give,’ Rosier answered simply. ‘He wants your commitment to the cause, but that will mean different things to different people, be it support for one of his close circle,’ he continued nodding at Narcissa who nodded back carefully in response, ‘or to give you the means to expand your talents,’ he said, nodding at Severus this time. ‘In time, he will ask you to prove yourselves worthy, but you must understand and commit first.’ 

‘What does the Dark Lord want?’ Regulus asked. 

‘A world of freedom and respect for you all,’ Rosier promised. ‘Where you can practise the magic you want, whenever, and on whomever you please. For too long, our heritage has been belittled and repressed. We have allowed Muggle lovers to make our laws, restrict our magic and dictate our lives.’

‘How does he mean to achieve that? Can he not take over as Minister?’ Pernilla questioned.

‘The Minister is a puppet,’ Rosier spat. ‘What can he achieve in that position? It is too restrictive for one so powerful, which you will see if you ever have the honour of being in his presence. Half your families are on the Wizengamot, and what real progress have we seen? None. We have gone backwards.’ 

‘Can he see no value in Muggle-borns? I have observed some with extraordinary talent,’ Snape probed carefully.

Hermione raised a wry eye at him. He must be thinking of Lily. This was interesting. She had heard that the Dark Lord had tried to recruit James and Lily at some point, and she could never understand how he thought Lily might fit in. Didn't they all hate Muggle-borns and everything they stood for?

‘Talent should never be wasted, as long as it is in service to our Lord,’ Rosier clarified. ‘He doesn’t respect the ways of Muggle-borns. There will be some Muggle-borns who will have their uses of course, but they must know and subscribe to the old ways, otherwise, we will lose too much.’ 

Regulus caught her eye then. He was looking right through her, like he could hear her thoughts racing wildly through her mind. He must be able to see the scepticism in her face. There was no point trying to hide it; she needed to find a way to use it.

Hermione knew the people in this circle understood her as an academic and lover of debate. They would never be truly convinced by her if she accepted everything they were saying easily. She needed to show that her mind had changed. ‘You speak of service,’ Hermione started. ‘It is an unusual phrase for a Wizard who leads a noble family to use.’  

‘Do you think the heads of noble houses would gladly serve a Lord if they did not have complete trust in him and respect for his power?’ 

This was a dangerous game. To walk this tightrope, she needed to keep her cool. ‘I have nothing but respect for the ideals the Dark Lord stands for, and for his power. But I would also not expect those who already have power to give it up so lightly,’ she said carefully, not backing down. 

‘You have not met our Lord, Hermione. When you see the extraordinary feats he can accomplish, you will understand.’

Hermione smiled serenely. 'I look forward to it.'

It was all completely mad, but she could see how and why they were seduced.

They talked for hours that night under the full moon, only breaking when the sun began to rise.

As dawn broke, the Slytherins made their way back to the castle, yawning as they went. 

Despite her exhaustion, a speck in the distance caught Hermione's attention. Three figures in the distance were coming towards them, one of whom almost passed out as the other pulled him along. Peter, James and Sirius.

Hermione's heart raced wildly. Why weren’t those idiots under their invisibility cloak? Something bad must have happened if they didn’t have it on. 

She quickly and discreetly cast a ‘Notice Me Not’ Charm.

'This way,' she said tugging Regulus's arm. 'It avoids the windows from the staff quarters.' 

Regulus frowned, but yawned again and complied, the rest of the Slytherins following after. 

When they entered the castle, she made her excuses. 'I'm going to pass by the kitchens. Does anyone want anything?' 

Luckily, they all waved her off. 

When the last Slytherin turned into the corridor near the Dungeons, Hermione fled in the opposite direction. She sprinted to the Gryffindor Common Room, barrelling into the 7th-year boy's dorm.

Her eyes zeroed in on James, who was passed out on his bed. 

‘Has he been bitten?’ Hermione asked sharply, running straight to him. 

‘What do you mean?’ Sirius replied, far too casually, sidling up towards her with a look of suspicion on his handsome face.

Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘Fine, I'll check myself,’ she replied, surveying James carefully. ‘We need to keep him upright and awake while I check him.’ 

Sirius and Peter shared an intense look but complied. 

She stripped James of his clothes to assess the damage. The most obvious injury was a large bruise forming across his chest. Swiftly, she took her wand and cast diagnostic spells. A broken rib and leg were the worst of it. His internal organs were bruised, but they would heal. 

She sighed in relief and set to work healing him, falling into a calm trance as she worked. 

When she was satisfied with her work, she turned to Peter, holding out her hand with what she hoped was a kind smile on her face, gesturing for him to sit so she could assess him.

Luckily, his bruises were less serious, and she only had to coax him to show her a small part of his back. He was shy with his body, and she was not keen on seeing more of it, given their history. 

Sirius watched her very carefully. ‘Fights with the Centaurs never go our way,’ he stated nonchalantly.

Hermione gave him an incredulous look. ‘You must think I was born yesterday,’ she scoffed, as she finished her work and then began to eye up Sirius’s bruises. 

‘What the hell does that mean?’ Sirius rounded on her.

‘Muggle saying,’ she replied casually. 

‘Why do you know all these weird Muggle sayings?!’ he hit back. 

‘Sirius, shut up and take your top off,’ Hermione demanded. 

Sirius's mouth gaped open, but he complied reluctantly. 

Hermione steeled herself to ignore the beauty before her, gently coaxing him to sit on his bed, and using wandless magic with her soft hands to heal his bruises. 

‘We don’t deserve this, you know,’ Sirius offered quietly as she worked to heal him. ‘We shouldn’t be running around the forest at night chasing trouble.’ 

‘Shouldn’t you?’ she replied dispassionately.

Sirius viewed her with a suspicious look, but she continued her work, noticing as he began to grow tired.

‘You all need sleep,’ she stated simply as he rested his head on the pillow.

As Sirius closed his eyes, he muttered gently. ‘I still remember you healing me last Easter. I dream about it. Why are you running around with wannabe Death Eaters when you could be looking after us?’

That was a question she couldn’t answer. 

Notes:

(Warning for this chapter: Brief descriptions of animal sacrifice and dark rituals in the third section.)

Chapter 24: I:XIX

Severus Snape spent a lot of time watching Lily Evans, and what he saw was not good.

She was softening to that idiot Potter.

Everyone in this castle thought he had matured, but Severus knew from the smug, hateful looks he received that that was not the case.

Whilst Severus was sure that it would take a long time for Lily to come back to him, he always believed it was possible. He knew why she was angry with him, of course. Her Muggle background meant she couldn’t possibly know how the Wizarding World worked, or what more it had to offer with the right leadership. The slurs she’d heard (which admittedly he contributed to) had blinded her. 

He needed to find a way to make her see.

The Dark Lord also needed to recognise her value. Surely, with her talent, she could be nothing but an asset, no matter her background. Severus wanted them to live in a world where they were both free to practice their magic in whatever way they chose, not what that fool Dumbledore counted. 

James Potter was an obstacle to that, but not an insurmountable one. Severus just needed to find a way to win her over.

So when Professor Slughorn asked the 7th year Potions class to get into groups of three to create Polyjuice Potion, Severus grabbed his opportunity. 

Without thought or reason, he grabbed Hermione's arm and strong-armed her towards the front of the classroom, where Lily sat alone.

On the way, he subtly waved his wand, moving chairs towards each other. When the rest of the class realised what had happened, they were already grouped into threes. There were some grumbles of protest, but most students were bemused by the intervention.  

When they reached Lily's desk, Severus was rendered mute by the look of suspicion on her face. 

'Severus, I don't think this is a good idea...' Lily said in a small, sad voice. 

Hermione darted her eyes between the two and gave a huff of resolve. 'We're the best students in this class.' 

'By about a mile,' Severus deadpanned. 

'That doesn't mean we can work together...' Lily replied sceptically. 

Hermione sat down carefully beside Lily, her voice gentle. ‘Severus isn't wrong. Everyone else appears to be in groups now, and I'm sure we can all act professionally...'

Lily looked around the room, her face falling as she saw the truth of it. She tapped her finger on the table, weighing up her options. 

'It doesn't have to mean anything, Lily,' Hermione said softly.

Finally, Lily gave a resigned sigh, 'Potions chat only,' she demanded, with a hard look of resolve. 

'Potions chat only,' Severus agreed.

Only the sparkle in his eyes gave away his triumph.  

 

...........

 

Hermione could see what Severus was trying to do, and she wasn't sure it would ever be successful. He had broken something fundamental in his relationship with Lily and would clearly never reject the cause for her. So what was the point?

She resolved not to get involved, but she couldn't help but observe. 

Weeks of studying in the library as a group of three went by. Lily never diverted from their assignment, keeping her eyes cast down and focusing solely on their workload. 

The pain behind Severus's eyes as he watched her like a hawk was heartbreaking to watch. Hermione theoretically understood how important their relationship must have been for Severus to keep the flame alive for so many years, but seeing the admiration, pining, and borderline obsession up close was another matter.

As much as she felt for Severus, her empathy was always more with Lily. Hermione couldn't see how they could ever overcome the obstacle of Severus joining the cult of madman who wanted to obliterate people like her. 

It was interesting to see how the moderate Slytherins jumped through mental hoops to explain away Lily's talent and intelligence, whilst keeping their core beliefs alive. They talked of the idea of exceptions- Half-Bloods and Muggleborns who fell in line and respected the superiority of Wizarding heritage, the importance of bloodlines and traditions. The blood purity of those who supported the cause and knew their place was rarely questioned. 

Hermione understood now that most Muggleborns failed at the first hurdle. They knew so little of the Wizarding World before they arrived at Hogwarts, its traditions were so alien to them that they unknowingly offended at least a dozen social rules in their first term. From then on, they were marked as different, strange and a threat. 

Lily was an exception, though. Even though she was vivacious and cheeky, her personality was low-key in comparison to her fellow Gryffindors. She dressed modestly naturally and kept her head down in lessons. Her natural talent shone through, and it was her kindness and goodness that made her a great Prefect. The fact that she had been friends with Severus for so long, and in opposition to the Marauders for years, made her less of a threat than some of her other Muggleborn peers. 

The whispers had started when she became Head Girl, of course. Did she deserve it? Was she talented enough? 

It felt that year, like the Slytherins were watching her more closely to decide - was she a threat, or could they use her? 

So it shouldn't have surprised Hermione when she arrived in the library one Wednesday evening for her usual study session with Lily and Severus, only to find someone else had joined them. Regulus Black. 

To say Regulus looked uncomfortable would be an understatement. Hermione had never seen him look so stiff. His body was completely angled away from Lily, and he had an expression on his face like she might be a wild animal. Hermione doubted he’d ever lowered himself to interact with a Muggle-born.

Well, he was about to see that Lily was a Witch of substance, not an exotic and dangerous creature.

'Hermione, we can't make sense of this,' Lily said, darting her eyes to the book in front of her. 'The runes look Mayan, but the translation is all off...'

Hermione gave Regulus and Severus a polite nod and then sat down next to Lily, scanning the text in front of her. It only took her a moment to spot the problem. 'That's because it was translated by Spanish Wizards. When they first arrived in South America, they viewed the Mayan language as primitive and didn't bother to understand its nuances and intricacies. Do you have the original?'

Lily nodded enthusiastically, pulling it out and cross-referencing again. 'That makes so much more sense! No wonder we were having issues. The agave needs much more delicate handling...'

'We still don't have this bit right, though,' Severus pointed out. 'I suspect there is Elemental Magic involved...' 

'Yes, Hogwarts does tend to ignore ancient techniques...' Hermione agreed, frustrated. 

'We have an old text in the Black Library,' Regulus offered stiffly, spitting out his words carefully as if they were painful to say. 'I could... source it for you. If that would be helpful.'

Lily looked up at him in surprise, almost as if she had forgotten his presence. 'That would be wonderful, if it's not too much trouble...' 

Regulus took a gulp and answered in a flat tone through flared nostrils. 'Not at all.' 

Hermione caught Severus's eye over the table. They both smirked at each other. Poor Regulus, having to have his world view torn apart. 

Over the coming weeks, Regulus kept coming back.

He rarely offered any conversation, merely observing the strange and unusual creature before him. Hermione tried not to laugh at his aghast expression at every subtle demonstration that Lily was polite, well-bred, intelligent, and most importantly, wickedly talented. 

‘Maybe our brothers don’t have such poor taste,’ Hermione teased Regulus as they exited the library one day after Lily had impressed them all with a particularly intricate charm of her own making.

‘Don’t go that far,’ Regulus replied darkly. 

 

...............

 

Tentative alliances were fragile, though. 

One late November morning, the Daily Prophet arrived. Hermione grabbed it from their family Owl and began devouring it. The headline read: 'He Who Must Not Be Named Expels Muggles From Avalon'.' As she turned the page, the editorial read: 'Genius or Madness? Is Voldemort doing the work the Ministry has failed to do?' 

Hermione held her breath as she read the details. Voldemort had struck a political blow to the Ministry. The sacred land around Avalon had long been a bone of contention for the traditional Wizarding parties. Conversations she had overheard at Pureblood tea parties suggested that Muggles had spoiled the area and compromised the ancient magic surrounding it.

That didn't mean Voldemort needed to wipe the Muggles residing there off the face of the earth. For that is what appeared to have happened. Witnesses saw signs of life at 10 pm the previous evening, and by 10.08 pm, all signs of life had been erased.  

Hermione's eyes raised briefly, as stupidly she caught the eyes of Lily at the Gryffindor table. Her face was ashy white, horror written across her face. A fleeting moment of solidarity passed between them at the enormity of what they had both just read. Voldemort had committed genocide. 

Suddenly, Hermione was hyper-aware of where she was and the openness of her expression. She gulped and cast her eyes back down to the article, reading it over again. Her cheeks heated as she felt the eyes of her fellow Slytherins watching her. They always were. Right now, her reactions, no matter how minuscule, mattered.  

Racking her brains, she tried to come up with something to say which would explain the multitude of expressions that must have passed over her face. She settled on awe. It was the only thing that made sense. 'How did he do it?' she whispered to no one in particular. 

She raised her eye, catching the bemused look on Regulus's face and Titus's smug expression.

Emboldened, she continued. 'The sheer power.... this is impossible magic!' 

Regulus snorted and rolled his eyes. 'Trust you to be obsessed with the mechanics of it!'

'And you're not?' Hermione shot back, a gleam of challenge in her eyes. She pushed down the nausea she felt at their reactions - the sheer lack of empathy and understanding was horrifying. But she could not think of that now. 

'He’s the real deal,'  Titus whispered in a low tone, leaning towards Hermione and cutting her with an intense, brooding stare.

Hermione hummed, contemplating his words. 

'Yes, yes,' Rabaston butt in. 'It's all very impressive. What matters is that he's the answer to us taking back control.' 

'Quite,' Regulus agreed reverantly. 

'And if the lady is going to be convinced by his ideas, then we'll tell her more about them,' Titus said playfully. 

'Are you sure you can keep up with that type of debate?' Regulus challenged Titus with a smirk. 

Titus leaned in further towards Hermione, close enough that she caught a whiff of his musky scent. 'I'd certainly enjoy trying,' he smirked. 

Hermione hummed in mock uncertainty, but her eyes danced with intrigue.

Titus Nott would be worth cultivating some more. But she would need to play him very, very carefully.

Chapter 25: I:XX

The Yule season was very different for Hermione this year.

Slytherins had accepted her into the fold, if not yet a confidant on every issue, she was seen as one of them, part of the furniture. Her inclusion in conversation, the rituals and the social events of the season meant one thing: she had made progress. 

'Your hair really has a mind of its own, doesn't it?' Narcissa said as she sidled up to Hermione's dressing table. They were alone in the dorm, both preparing for the Yule Slug Club.

'It really does,' Hermione sighed. 'I don't honestly mind it, day to day, but when it comes to formal events, it's a bit of a struggle...' 

Narcissa hummed, coming up behind her and surveying her curls critically. 'What have you used?' 

'Relaxing charms. Sleekeasy. Slept in a bonnet for the last few nights...' Hermione sighed. 

'It could be worse,' Narcissa hummed. picking up a few curls. 'But we need to strong-arm the back into something sleeker, so you can work with the curls at the front.'

'You think you can do that?' Hermione asked hopefully.

Narcissa gave her an imperious look. 'Of course I can. I have sisters, don't I? And Bella's hair texture is not that dissimilar to your own...'

Hermione gave a grateful smile and allowed Narcissa to do her work.

An hour later, Hermione's hair was in a subtle, sleek updo, curls framing her face to give the hint of her everyday self. 

'You're a miracle worker,' Hermione said gratefully.  

Narcissa nodded graciously. 

'What can I do to help you this evening?' Hermione implored.

'Well, if you can keep Lucius away from the politicians, that would be helpful. We hardly get to spend any time together as it is, I'd like to enjoy the little time we have this evening.' 

'I'm sure I can do that,' Hermione said indulgently. 'And I'm sure Lucius will do his best. His gifts are getting ever more lavish, it's clear he's missing you.' 

'He is, isn't he?' Narcissa replied smugly, offering Hermione her arm.  

Hermione took it gratefully. They slowly walked to Slughorn's office, carefully balanced on heels that were far too high for Hermione. Thank goodness for balancing charms.

When they arrived, the broad form of Titus Nott came to greet them. Hermione held her head high, trying to avoid showing how much she appreciated the fit of his robes, his gentlemanly stance and the look of heat between his eyes. 

'You look rather ravishing,' he whispered in her ear. 

Hermione gave him a wry look. 'I think you're thinking of someone else, Nott. There's an Abbott over there, if you're looking for some fun...' 

Titus held his hands up in submission. 'You're quite right. That was the wrong word entirely. You're looking like the picture of elegance. Divine, in fact.'

Hermione hummed in appeasement. 'That's more like it.' 

'Ah, Miss Potter!' The voice of Professor Slughorn rang out. 'Delighted to see you, dear. Let me introduce you to some people you should meet.... Damocus, old boy, meet my latest Potions Prodigy...'

Hermione smiled genuiuely at Damocus Belby. The inventor of Wolfsbane was her hero, and she would be happy to be pulled into conversation with him. For a good hour, she conversed easily with him, pulling apart the intricacies of his work with Werewolves, fascinated and impressed by his approach. 

She was only torn away by the pleading looks of Narcissa, who appeared to be stuck with Lucius and an older politician. Hermione recognised the man from the Potter’s new year's gatherings: Lord Bones. A great friend and supporter of Fleamont Potter.

Hermione sauntered over and introduced herself boldly. 'Lord Bones, I believe you know my father?' she offered.

'Oh, yes, Miss Potter! He talks about your talents a lot,' Lord Bones smiled, turning away from a grateful-looking Narcissa. 

'Well, I'm very proud of him, and all the work he's did as the Head of Law Enforcement as well,' Hermione smiled sincerely. 

'Aren't we all? We’re not looking forward to his retirement as much as he clearly is. Sometimes I think he's one of the only things standing between us ordinary folk and chaos. And Dumbledore, of course.' 

Hermione nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

Lord Bones was right. Without the pushback from the likes of Fleamont Potter and Albus Dumbledore, Voldemort would let chaos reign. 

 

.............

 

Christmas approached quickly, and Hermione soon found herself back on the Hogwarts Express, heading for Potter Manor. 

On their return, Fleamont called her directly into his study, offering her a seat behind the desk.

He had serious business then, Hermione thought wryly. 

‘So the Flores intention. They are quite a family,’ Fleamont started.

Hermione had almost forgotten about her letter of intention from Henrik. But Fleamont was right. The interest of one of the most powerful and well-regarded Wizarding families in Northern Europe should not be taken lightly. 

Hermione considered her reply carefully. ‘I am very sensible of the honour of his proposal. But I don’t want to move to Bavaria - at least not yet. I’m too young to be making such a decision.’

Fleamont contemplated her words. ‘Do you like him?’ he asked gently.

‘As much as you can in one meeting,’ Hermione replied honestly. ‘It was fleeting, but I would have liked to know him better, as a friend if nothing more.’

’And it’s not part of your… wider plans,’ Fleamont said carefully.

There rarely spoke of Hermione’s true mission, and she was careful not to give them any details. For the most part, they understood why and did not push. Occasionally though, it would come up and Hermione would need to balance what to say and what to conceal carefully.

’It is not,’ she settled on. 

‘So we do not turn it down outright then,’ Fleamont concluded. 

‘Exactly. I can’t formally agree to pursue it, but I would like to get to know him better. I may accept his courtship at a later date if the offer remains open.’

‘And if you received offers closer to home?’ he pressed.

‘I will consider them,’ Hermione replied, settling the matter. 

Fleamont gave a big sigh and leaned back on his chair. ‘The game you are playing child, it cannot be easy…’

’It’s not,’ Hermione said in a small broken voice. ‘But it’s also not a game.’

 

............

 

Christmas was quiet, but a little less painful than the last. 

At least this year, Hermione managed to join in with the rituals and conversations and even cracked a smile or two as the joy and laughter spilt out of Euphemia, Fleamont, and most of all, James. 

The most wonderful thing of all was watching Sirius bloom.

The joy shone from his eyes at being surrounded by such warmth. At every ritual, dinner or simple game in the evenings, Sirius's eyes betrayed a kind of wonder that this family existed, and he had been invited to join it. Hermione was captivated. 

There was an incredulity to his reactions, as if he wasn't quite sure if it was all real. Having spent time in the house of horrors he formally called home, being introduced to his Mother and hearing snippets of tales of his youth, there was no doubt in Hermione's mind that Sirius deserved all the love he received. 

Most surprisingly, Sirius had brought her a present this year.

On Christmas morning, she woke up with a pang of nostalgia and longing for former friends and life. It was more of an ache, than a pain though, and her heart warmed when she saw the bright presents at the end of her bed. She opened them reverantly, taking her time to appreciate each one. 

Her last present was addressed to 'kitten,' so it could only be from Sirius. Opening it quickly, she found a record inside. Rumours, Fleetwood Mac. 

A million memories came flooding back to her. Her parents had played that record constantly during her childhood, and she must know the lyrics to half the songs by heart. If she closed her eyes, she could see her mum dancing around the kitchen singing, 'Well here you go again, you say you want your freedom...' 

How could he possibly know what this meant to her? 

She dressed and bounded down the stairs, bumping into Sirius's hard body in the hallway. He accosted her immediately, clutching the Motorcycle manual she’d bought for him in his hand. 'How did you know I liked Motorbikes?' he demanded, his eyes narrowed in a mix of suspicion and teasing.

Hermione smiled broadly. 'I had a few clues. It was that or a copy of Playboy,' she deadpanned, thinking of the pictures of Muggle women in bikinis stuck to the walls of Grimmauld Place.

Sirius barked out an incredulous laugh and then gave her a rogueish grin. 'I wouldn't say no...' 

Hermione snorted and beamed back at him. 'Thanks for the record. I love it.' 

Sirius gave her a heart-melting smile. 'Well, Stevie Nicks reminds me a lot of you...' 

Hermione was about to form a witty retort when an enthusiastic James bounded towards them, pulling them both in hugs and dominating the conversation from then on in. 

Sirius and Hermione watched on indulgently. James at Christmas was in his element, and it was a beautiful thing to watch. 

 

..............

 

James' non-stop chatter didn't stop after Christmas, and there was only one thing on his mind: Lily Evans. 

Something had changed between them over the last few months, and James had finally spotted it. Hermione didn't know if he would have noticed all by himself, but the invitation to come to Cokesworth to visit her on New Year's Eve was evidence in black and white. 

For days, he beseged Hermione with questions about what the invitation meant, how he should act, and most importantly, what he could buy her for Christmas. Hermione was in trouble for helping him do too well on her birthday, and now he was struggling to do better.  

‘You set too high a standard!’ James protested, reminding Hermione of the book she'd convinced him to get for Lily. 

‘I started you off on the right foot!’ Hermione reprimanded. ‘You have to find out what will make her smile now. What does she care about? What bothers her? 

‘Her family hates magic,’ James grumbled.

‘So help her with that,’ Hermione suggested. ‘Or don’t make it worse at least…’

‘How would I make it worse?!’ James said, clearly offended. 

‘Oh, James, really?’ Hermione sighed, exasperated. ‘How used to the Muggle world are you? You’re bound to trip up, and if you do, it will just make things worse for her.’ 

‘So what you’re saying is that I shouldn’t show up in her Floo, with a baby Crup?’ James tried cheekily.  

‘Neither of those things exists in the Muggle world, James!’ Hermione cried.

‘Right, that’s it,’ James decided. ‘If you’re not going to give me any decent advice, then you’re just going to have to come with me!’

And so, the invitation was extended. Lily agreed that the Marauders and Hermione could join them at The Brewers Arms pub in Coatsworth for their annual New Year's Eve party. 

There was pressure in being James' guide. What if she messed it up, and Harry never came into existence? Hermione was reasonably confident that Remus could handle it, but she had zero faith in the others, especially when James looked so nervous. 

Before the Marauders apparated to Cokeworth, Hermione checked their clothing, made adjustments to make them look more Muggle, and then lectured them on the plan, the rules, and contingencies, while they looked on, bemused. 

‘It’s not that different,’ Hermione tried to reassure James. 'We'll go to a pub, drink some beer, and listen to a band. We will just not talk about playing with our wands,' Hermione lectured. 

Giggles erupted from the Marauders.

‘You are such children!’ Hermione huffed, grabbing her wand and apparating away before they wound her up even further.

In the end, there was no playing with wands or anything that might break the Statue of Secrecy.

They managed to enter the village pub, order pints, and even converse with the locals without any incidents. 

Hermione spent the evening sipping beers and watching Sirius and Remus down pint after pint. Sirius entertained the locals with tales of his marauding, Remus rolling his eyes in exasperation, and Hermione scoffing at his exaggerations.

They all grew steadily more drunk and even more silly as the night wore on. 

James and Lily were cosied into a corner, wrapped up in their own little world. 

Hermione would occasionally look over, beaming proudly at James, who had pared down his over-enthusiasm for the evening, and was listening, really listening to whatever Lily was saying. Blush was spreading up Lily's cheek every time James leaned forward, or when she caught his eye. 

'It's happening,' Remus whispered incredulously. 'It's really happening.' 

'Bloody hell, Prongs,' Sirius roared a bit too loudly.

A slightly wobbly Hermione propelled herself forward on her stool and placed her finger over Sirius's surprisingly soft lips. 'Shhh!' she chastised. 'Don't you dare jinx it!' 

Sirius smirked and made a mock salute. 'Fine, Lady Potter.' He jumped off his stool and gave a dramatic flourish of his hand. 'But I demand you distract me with a dance.'

Hermione grinned and took his hand easily, grabbing Remus by the arm and dragging him up with them. 'You're coming too,' she demanded. 'It's insulting to the Muggles if you don't.' 

Remus gave an exaggerated sigh, but reluctantly let himself be dragged onto the dance floor. 

As the band played, they spun around the dancefloor for hours. Hermione was drunk and giddy and caught up in dancing with Remus, Sirius, and locals she didn't know. 

'Look,' Remus drunkenly whispered, pointing at James and Lily, now wrapped around each other in their booth.

Hermione nearly cried with joy, pulling Sirius and Remus in for a big kiss on each cheek.

Sirius looked at her with unfocused, heated eyes, but Remus merely looked amused. 'What was that for?' Remus demanded. 

'Because,' Hermione slurred, trying not to sway as she held onto them for support. 'We are witnessing the start of something beautiful...' 

For the rest of the night, they were all half consumed with the music and half consumed with the joy of James finally getting the woman of his dreams. 

Chapter 26: I:XXI:1978

The snakes were sniping on the Hogwarts Express as they departed London on January 3rd. 

'If I have to hear one more thing about the Malfoy Gala…' Parminda said grumpily as Hermione entered the carriage filled with older Slytherins.

Narcissa gave Parminda an icy, cool look, clearly put out.

Hermione cut in, perching herself opposite Narcissa, Regulus and Parminda, with Severus, Pernilla and Rabaston on the other side. 'Go on, Narcissa, I'm happy to hear about it. I've been without society for two weeks. All I've had to work with is the Daily Prophet…' 

Her dorm-mates probably thought it was the society pages that Hermione was alluding to. In reality, her interest in the dull movements of the Sacred 28 paled into comparison with the headlines about the increase in Death Eater attacks. The Daily Prophet had glossed over the details, but Hermione could read between the lines. They were ramping up. 

'The Gala was a triumph, obviously,' Narcissa said cooly, still staring Parminda down. 

'But no scandal, I'm afraid,' Pernilla cut in, idly checking her nails for imperfections. 'All anyone wants to talk about these days is 'the cause.' 

'Merlin forbid,' Regulus deadpanned.

'I don't think you're going to get much sympathy here, Pernilla,' Hermione said lightly. 'Considering most of the people in this carriage are eager for change...'

Pernilla shot her a dirty look.

'Even if some of them do disagree with the methods?' Rabaston said slyly. 

'Nothing wrong with weighing up actions carefully, Lestrange,' Hermione volleyed back with a smirk.

'You're not the only one who is asking questions,' Regulus agreed. 'This war is beginning to take its toll.'

Rabaston leant forward, a passionate glint in his eye. 'All the more reason to go in hard. All our relatives want the war wrapped up…' 

'And they've all got different ideas about how that might happen,' Regulus mused. 

Pernilla made a face at him. 'Daddy says they are in desperate need of fresh blood. Are you putting your hat in the ring?'

'I intend to be useful when the time comes. Which is more than I can say for everyone…' Regulus said harshly. 

'Come on now, Regulus,' Titus said lightly. 'Everyone has their uses. And you know we're going to look outside of our circles for talent this term.' 

Narcissa looked disturbed. 'Don't tell me you're intending to reconcile with Sirius?!' 

Regulus scoffed. 'Don't be ridiculous. I know a lost cause when I see one.'

'Maybe so. But we might need to actually talk to people outside of Slytherin…' Rabaston said pointedly, eyeing up Hermione. 

Hermione raised her brows questioningly, wondering exactly how they were going to try to use her for this. She would need to be careful to be helpful, but not overly influence who signed up, so as not to affect the timeline. 'That sounds ambitious...' 

Rabaston gave her a feral smile. 'Well, that's the marker of our house, isn't it?'

 

...........

 

Of all of the silly decisions Dumbledore had ever made, Hermione thought holding a Duelling Contest in the middle of a war was one of the stupidest. 

In the second week of term, under the guise of 'inter-house unity', the Duelling Arena was set up in the Quidditch pitch. All 6th and 7th years were encouraged to enter the Contest, and all but the most pacifist amongst them did. 

Hermione observed the excitement building, noticing, most worryingly, that the wannabe Death Eaters in her house were alive with glee as the tournament began. The old fool Dumbledore thought he was recruiting, but so were they. The chance to bring down the Marauders and the odd Muggle-born wouldn't hurt either. 

In the first round, the stands were buzzing with a polite sort of interest. Hermione listened to the idle chatter as the stadium filled up, each house naturally gravitating to their usual positions in the stands, as if this were an Inter-House Quidditch Match. 

Hermione felt at odds with the jovial atmosphere. To her, this wasn’t sport. It was a brutal reminder of the war she had been through, and the one that was coming for them all. 

'Dorcas has quite the DADA record, doesn’t she?' Severus said slyly as they watched Dorcas Meadows enter the arena, a fierce look on her face as she surveyed the crowds. 

The 7th year Slytherins sat huddled together in a prime position in the stands, backs straight and brows arched as they waited for the show to begin. 

Hermione was eyeing Dorcas' opponent carefully. Regulus Black looked entirely passive as he stood opposite, as if he were joining afternoon tea, not a duel. 'We both know that doesn't count for much in the real world.'

'So our money's on Reg then?' Titus asked. 

'Obviously,' Severus deadpanned.

'I'll always back a snake,' Hermione confirmed. 

'If you think the odds are with us?' Rabaston asked slyly. 

Hermione scoffed. 'Well, of course. We're not known for our recklessness, are we?' 

Dumbledore blew the whistle, and Hermione took a deep intake of breath as the first duel began.

For the first few minutes, Dorcas let out a series of hexes that Regulus battered away easily, barely breaking a sweat. The crowd leaned forward, eyeing them with interest, trying to assess who would come out on top. 

'They're quite evenly matched, aren't they?' Rabaston mused.

'I think Hermione's right,' Titus replied. 'Dorcas plays by the book and puts far too much emotion into it. It won't take much for Regulus to break her.' 

It did not. After a few more minutes of back-and-forth sparring, something Regulus whispered to Dorcas turned the tide.

Dorcas stood mutely, obviously in shock. A shake in her wrist made it easy for Regulus to hit her with a string of non-verbal Curses, until eventually, she fell. 

Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey ran onto the pitch, frowns marring both their faces. As they placed Dorcas' shaking body onto a stretcher, Hermione could hear the whispers in the stands around them. 'That looks bad!', 'It must have been a dark curse', knowing the Blacks, we'll never prove it...' 

Hermione turned to the Gryffindor stand. The Marauders were all gesticulating wildly at each other, and Dumbledore who was stood on the pitch, his face impassive. She could see the rage emitting from Sirius like an inferno, directed firmly at his brother. 

The game was on. 

The first rounds were otherwise uneventful. Hermione watched on carefully as the strong contenders, including all of her friends and allies, defeated their weaker opponents within minutes.

It was a long day, watching mismatched duel after duel, and her time couldn't come swiftly enough. 

Hermione was paired with Peter Pettigrew and was determined to make the little traitor pay for his many future crimes. As she walked onto the pitch, she saw the shake in his wand hand, his wide eyes and shuffling feet. He would not get pity from her, though. 

As the whistle blew, Hermione took perverse pleasure in landing the first Stinging Hex. Slowly, she stalked forward, idly shooting hex after hex, until Peter stumbled and fell to the ground.

He looked distraught for a moment, but then a glint of determination flashed in his eyes. Hermione watched as his wand him the floor and his lips moved slowly. The sneaky rat was trying to send a curse through the ground to her without her noticing. The naive fool, as if she wouldn't catch it.

Hermione played along, pretending the shockwave he'd sent through the ground had hit her and limping for a few moves. Once he began to look overconfident, she roundly aimed a hex straight for his heart. 

Peter collapsed, and Hermione stood over him, her nostrils flared, eyes narrowed, and head held high as she surveyed his crumpled body.

The whistle blew, and the first round was over. 

Hermione made her way back to the entrance of the Slytherin stands, waiting for the 7th years, who all patted her on the back or nodded their heads as a signal of respect for her victory. Slowly, they made their way back to the castle, Hermione falling into step with Parminda, Pernilla and Narcissa humming along to their idle chatter.  

'Hermione! Wait up!' James called from behind her. 

She turned around, nodding at her companions to go ahead.

'I thought you were going to make an effort with Pete,' James sighed as he reached her. 

'I have been,' Hermione defended, turning with a huff and talking towards the castle. 'You saw what he did. It was hardly sportsmanlike.' 

'Neither was your response,' James said darkly, stumbling to catch up with her. 'It's like you want him to fail.' 

'I don't trust him,' Hermione replied, her voice high and tight. 

'You don't trust anyone,' James scoffed.  

Hermione huffed and folded her arms, speeding up her walk. 'He's a rat, James. Just think about what that means.'  She wasn't supposed to know that, of course, but she couldn't help but plant the seeds of doubt. 'I'll see you on Saturday, we can talk more then,' she said with a tone of finality, turning swiftly and running off to join Severus, who was several paces away. 

'Did you get a telling off for making a Gryffindor cry?' Severus deadpanned as she reached her. 

Hermione tutted and smiled. 'Something like that. I'm not apologising for taking down that sly little toad.'  

'It was a stupid move, thinking he could fool you,' Snape drawled idly. 'But for someone less paranoid… it might have worked.' 

Hermione raised her eyebrows in scepticism. 

'Your brother and friends treat him like an inferior,' Severus clarified. 'You must have noticed. He's weak and unsure of himself. One day, someone might even be able to turn him…'

Hermione frowned, taking in the impact of his words. 

She couldn't help but turn around and watch as Peter trailed behind Sirius and Remus. As hard as it was to admit, Severus was right. Peter was often on the outskirts of the Marauder group.

She watched as his beady little eyes darted about, searching for something that would impress them. When he landed something, his cheeks turned rosy and his eyes widened as if he'd won the lottery, as he tugged on their sleeves, eyes wide and mouth moving rapidly. James laughed, Sirius smirked, and Remus gave him a kind, pitying sort of smile. It didn't take long before his nervousness returned, and he found a new way to clamour for their attention. 

The penny dropped for Hermione then. Peter Pettigrew was useful in the Marauders' schemes, but outside of that, Hermione couldn't help but see the signs that he was often dismissed. Worst still, there was an occasional casual cruelty in some of their interactions. 

There was nothing to be done, though. Understanding, or worse, empathy would not help Hermione now.

 

..........

 

A week later, the second round of the Duelling Contest began.

This time, the Quidditch pitch was alight with excitement and speculation, as students began to see the value of seeing their peers fight it out. Excited chatter rang through the crowds, house banners were raised, and favourites were cheered as they made their way to the holding area. Some enterprising Gryffindors had set up a betting pool and created an interactive board with odds on favourites. 

The first match did not disappoint. 

Lily Evans took out Winston Goyle in spectacular fashion, her lightning-quick reactions no match for the clumsy Slytherin. 

The 7th Slytherins hummed in disappointment as the match came to a swift end. Hermione raised her brows and pursed her lips at Severus and Regulus - confirmation that they had all expected the result. 

'I noticed something interesting in her reign of fire,' Severus whispered conspiratorially from their seats in the stands.

Hermione hummed knowingly. 'I'm not sure all of those curses are Hogwarts approved...' 

'She's been reading,' Severus said reverantly.

Hermione gave him a chuckle in return. 'She's been reading the good stuff. I couldn't be prouder.'  

Hermione turned her attention back to the pitch.  

A dirty match between Pernilla and Narcissa followed, unleashing years of pent-up frustration. The Blacks and Parkinsons had an arsenal of nasty Curses to fire at each other. Narcissa won by a hair's breadth, but both left looking distinctly dishevelled, with Pernilla bowing out half bald and fuming. 

The rest of the matches were much more impressive than the first round. Those who had made it through had at least some skill, ensuring there was at least some competition between the competitors. It made for a much more exciting spectacle for the spectators. Titus, Severus, Rabaston and Regulus skirted around the edges of legality with their hexes in their duels, sailing through easily and leaving a trail of cuts and bruises in their wake. James sailed through his duel easily, but Remus had a little more trouble with Amos Diggory, who was skilled enough to put up a fight.

Parminda bowed out early in a quick duel with Amelia Bones, but seemed unconcerned when she joined Hermione back at the stands.

'I'm perfectly fine,' Parminda said nonchalantly, taking a flask of water from Hermione. 'It's much better to be enjoying the drama from the sidelines.'

'My brother is up next, so I'm sure we'll get some of that,' Regulus said wryly. 

'That's my cue to go and get ready,' Hermione announced, standing up and making her way through the stands, down the stairs and into the holding tent. 

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly, preparing herself for her duel. It was difficult, though, as the sounds from the stadium were overwhelmingly loud. Sirius must be putting on a display. From the huge roars of the crowd, it seemed the arrogant bastard had his opponent on the floor in seconds. 

A moment later, Sirius sauntered back into the holding area, greeting her with a broad, smug smile on his face. 

'Well, that was just cruel,' Hermione offered tartly, keeping her eyes on the entrance to the tent, avoiding his gaze. 'At least give your opponent time to stand up after they bow.' 

Sirius' eyes glimmered as he stalked up beside her. 'Should I play with my food before I eat it, kitten?' 

'Depends on the food, really,' Hermione said tightly. She had a sneaky suspicion that they were not talking about food. This casual flirting, which she had so little experience of, made her feel completely out of her depth.  

'Who have you got?' Sirius asked lightly, coming to stand a bit too close to her, so his musky scent overwhelmed her. 

Hermione took a steely breath, trying not to get distracted. 'McLaggon.' 

She was almost looking forward to her match with Eric McLaggon. Cormac's uncle was so much like his nephew that it was almost laughable. A patronising idiot, puffed up with his importance, and convinced that any woman would be ecstatic to date him.

Sirius's smile grew feral as he leaned in and whispered in her ear. 'Are you going to make him cry today, kitten?' 

She matched his smile, turning towards him with a sparkle in her eyes, her tone low and vicious. 'I'm going to make him scream.' 

Hermione did not disappoint. As the whistle blew to start the duel, Hermione quickly gauged that Eric McLaggon had quick reactions, but was far too showy with his magic. They soon found a duelling rhythm, Hermione easily swotting away every hex he threw at her, almost bored.

After a few minutes, McLaggon made the fatal mistake of annoying her with a modified version of an Imperius Curse, aimed at making her swoon. Hermione managed to hold down her instinct to roll her eyes. Instead, she faked her reaction, seeming to collapse and drop her wand.

Her opponent swaggered up and smugly loomed over her. He wasn't expecting Hermione to flip over and give him a right hook to his nose, a sharp elbow in his side and a final knee to his groin to finish him off.

The castle boys winced in solidarity. 

Hermione let out a cackle, and she stood up and dusted off her knees. These idiots never expected Muggle moves. So as not to cause too much suspicion, she flicked her wand and wrapped him in ropes to add a magical flourish to his defeat.  

'You fight dirty,' Titus whispered in her ear later as they watched an uneventful match between a minor Longbottom and a Muggle-born Hufflepuff. 

Hermione turned to him, her face cold and stony. 'That idiot tried to pull me into a broom cupboard last week. He doesn't deserve to keep his balls.' 

'Hex them off next time, Witch,' he smiled fiercely. 

Hermione replied with a feral smile of her own, meeting his steely brown eyes and getting lost a bit in the strength of his gaze.

Her heart did a little flutter. Sometimes it was hard to forget who Titus really was and everything he stood for.

Why did she find herself attracted to Wizards who like her ruthless side? There was something about a Wizard who encouraged her worst, most vicious tendencies that made her blood sing. 

Perhaps she really was becoming a Slytherin.

.............

 

In the third round, things got dirtier. 

'Slaughter at Muggle Right Rally,' read the morning headline in the Daily Prophet.

Hermione pulled down her Occlumency walls and scanned the details of the article. The attack sounded horrific. Muggle Rights Activists had gathered in Diagon Alley to protest a lack of action in protecting Muggleborns against Voldemort. Death Eaters set up anti-apparition wards, swarmed the street, kettled the protestors into a back alley, and then rained fire upon them. When she saw the list of the dead, many familiar names were among them. Dodge. Bones. Callum McKinnon - Marlene's oldest brother.  

Hermione sleepwalked through the rest of breakfast, letting Parminda take her arm and guide her to the Quidditch Pitch. Furious whispers, cries and even the occasional sob filled the air as the crowds grew around them, and they made their way up to the stands.

Hermione did her best to ignore them, staring straight ahead and humming the right places to convince Parminda she was engaged with the inane chatter about how handsome the favourite duellers were. It would not do to show she was distracted by the emotions of Muggleborns. 

Nodding at her fellow 7th-year Slytherins as she sat down, she scanned the crowd, noting the serious expression and furious whispers from the other side of the stands. The atmosphere today felt darker and more tense than it had been before. 

Hermione was almost relieved when Dumbledore strolled onto the pitch, breaking the tension. Her heart soared when she saw Lily enter the pitch behind him, standing opposite a smirking Estrella Lestrange. 

Lily's face was surprisingly passive, and her stance casual as she leaned on her hip, her wand at her side. It was only when Dumbledore blew his whistle that it changed.

Hermione watched Lily’s face grow thunderous as she raised her wand and shot out a series of nasty hexes so quickly that Estrella barely had time to react. Scarcely a minute passed before Lily was looming over Estrella, staring down furiously at her crumpled body, smirking at the Slytherin's skin erupting with boils. 

An earsplitting roar rang out from the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and parts of Ravenclaw stands, as all those with Muggle sympathy revelled in the victory. 

Hermione had an ill sense of foreboding. This victory could not last. She grasped the sides of the seat, her nails digging into the wood, waiting for the next match to begin. 

Marlene was out next, her body shaking and her eyes red and wild, and she stared down at Titus. Lily grabbed Marlene’s arm as she passed her on the pitch, whispering furiously in her ear. Marlene shrugged her off and shook her head, her eyes never leaving her opponent. 

'She's going to come for Titus with everything she's got, isn't she?' Narcissa said gravely. 

'She can try,' Rabaston scoffed. 

Hermione's eyes were wide as she watched Marlene do better than try. The Gryffindor Witch's wrath came out in a growl as she rained down a series of fiery curses on Titus as soon as the whistle blew. 

Titus deflected each with ruthless efficiency, turning from side to side with a fluidity Hermione had rarely seen beyond the actual battlefield. Even more impressive, he attacked and defended at the same time, setting up shields and firing hexes to test Marlene's defences. 

The look of awe on Hermione's face must have given her away. 'You look impressed with our boy,' Rabaston whispered with a sly glint in his eye, as Titus let off another string of curses towards a furious-looking Marlene. 

Hermione bristled, annoyed with herself. 'He's a machine,' she said pertly. 'Anyone would be impressed.'

'He's insanely hot,' Parminda sighed, fanning herself.

Hermione tutted, ignoring her friend and watching as Titus used Marlene's emotions against her in a show of brutal efficiency. There was a brief lull, where Titus regarded Marlene with a raised brow, and slowly began to smirk at her.

It must have pushed Marlene over the edge. At the top of her voice, she set off a Blasting Curse, directly at Titus's feet.

'Enough!' Dumbledore shouted, running onto the pitch. 'That's an illegal curse, as you well know, Miss McKinnon. I'm afraid we have no choice but to disqualify you.'   

'It looks like the Mudbloods and their allies are a bit emotional today. Let's use that, shall we?' Rabaston said gleefully as he made his way to the holding area for his duel.

The Slytherins took his advice. Rabaston took out a weeping Alice Jones, who could not withstand the insidious and torturous Curses he fired at her, and Severus showed no mercy to Sam Smith of Ravenclaw, who sustained serious injuries from unknown hexes. 

Hermione tried to ignore the noise and focus on her own duel. As she stepped onto the pitch and saw Septima Rosier standing in front of her, it hit her that this was the first duel that meant anything. In front of her was a Witch of skill, power and influence. If she wanted to stand out, beating Septima mattered. 

It was no surprise that Septima attempted to get ahead early, whispering an unknown curse at Hermione that caused the ground beneath them to crack and shake. Hermione smiled as she whipped a protective bubble around herself. Crude Dark Magic from the Rosier family vault was a given, and she was prepared.  

Hermione used the opportunity to show the depth and pool of resources that she had at her disposal, from both years of fighting a war, and her learning in the Malfoy and Potter libraries. 

Showing off her skills in Elemental Magic felt perfect for this moment. A little-known, ancient branch of magic which stood somewhere between the light and the dark, it could only be accessed by the most powerful of Wizards and Witches. It made a statement about who she was. 

Staying in her protective bubble and ignoring the sounds and vibrations of Septima's curses trying to break through, Hermione closed her eyes. With a deep breath, she placed her hand down onto the soil beneath her and whispered the guttural incantation.

With a whoosh, a ring of fire spread in a circle around Septima, entrapping her in the space.

Hermione gave a triumphant sigh, briefly watching with glee as Septima tried to cut through the flames. She whispered again, and the crowd gasped as a whirlwind of water rose from the nearby lake, spiralling into the sky and then falling in a perfect circle within the ring of fire.

Septima cried out, slashing her wand into the air in an attempt to dispel the water submerging her to waist height. Hermione wasted no time. Whipping her wand again and chanting the incantation, she froze the water, turning it into ice.

Septima and her wand were now completely frozen, ending the duel.

'Septima's going a little sore after that, Hermione,' Narcissa said lightly, as she offered Hermione a goblet of wine as she arrived back in the stands a little while later.

'As she should be,' Rabaston said respectfully. 'I didn't know you had it in you, Potter.'

'Didn't you?' Hermione asked with a raised brow. 'You clearly haven't been paying attention.' 

'Touche,' Rabaston shot back, his smirk widening at the challenge. 'We'll see how you do in the final rounds.'

'I wouldn't underestimate her if I were you,' Severus chuckled. 

Titus carefully placed a cloak over her shoulders. Hermione caught the twinkle in his eye and the intensity of his gaze. 'She's a contender.' 

Hermione nodded graciously, sipping her wine and taking a seat beside him.

She watched carefully as the third round of duels concluded, noting the strengths and weaknesses of each dueller. 

Remus should have been up there as a contender too, but Regulus was too calm, collected and sneaky, and the young Werewolf let him get under his skin. In retaliation, Sirius showed no mercy to his cousin Narcissa, with a spectacular battle filled with suspected Dark Curses directly from the Black family vault. Amelia Bones, the last Ravenclaw standing, put up a good fight against James, but the Potter heir was phenomenal and swiftly beat her. 

As the third round of the Contest came to a close, the makeshift sign the entrepreneurial Gryffindors had erected flashed up the odds for the final contenders. 

It was no surprise to Hermione to see James and Sirius were the frontrunners, both instinctively built for Defence Against the Dark Arts. 

They were closely followed by Lily, Hermione, Severus, Regulus, Titus and Rabaston  - all through to the final rounds. 

A Slytherin vs. Gryffindor battle was inevitable. 

Chapter 27: I:XXII

'So we've got to wait a whole month for the next part of the Tournament?' Peter whined. 

The seventh year Gryffindors were sitting up in their Common Room late the next day, lounging in their favourite spot by the fire. 

'That's not a bad thing, considering the number of injuries. Pomadora's been worked off her feet,' Lily offered gently. 

‘It's a Duelling Contest, what did they expect?' Sirius shrugged, passing the Quaffle in his hand to James, who caught it with a smirk. 

Remus snorted beside him, placing down his book and giving Sirius a long-suffering look. 'I can't say I think it was one of their best ideas...' 

'What are you talking about, Moony? It's the best chance we've had to practice for ages!' James cried, pushing the Quaffle towards Remus and threatening to throw it at him, watching as he flinched and throwing it back to an eager Sirus. 

'That tripping curse was genius, Prongs,' Sirius raved. 'Bones put up a good fight, but you can't beat a Marauder...' 

'Well, you can beat me and Pete...' Remus said wryly, looking up at his friends with an exasperated smile. 

Sirius grabbed the Quaffle and held onto it for a beat, his face falling. 'That's different. Slytherins don't play fair...' 

Marlene, who was sitting on the floor, legs and arms crossed, stared blankly into the fire and bit her nails. 'What would be the point in playing fair? They are not going to bow politely when they're out there, in the real world, are they?' 

Lily sat down gently on the floor beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She shot Sirius a warning look. 'No, Marls, they're not.' 

Sirius did not take the hint, leaning forward, his voice a growl when he spoke. 'It won't hurt for them to see what they're up against. Cowards, the lot of them...' 

Marlene quickly rose to her feet. Her stern expression turned on Sirius, nostrils flaring and eyes cold. 'You think this is a game? You think they are not biding their time until they can curse us all properly?! This tournament is bullshit!' 

With that, Marlene stormed off, shrugging off Lily's hand. 

Lily stared after her, a pained expression on her face. 'She's not wrong. There have been four more attacks this week. They say the number of Death Eaters is growing...'

James slid down his armchair to sit beside Lily, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. 'So we keep fighting,' he said gravely. 'We do everything we can here, and when we get out. Together.' 

'At least we can see who is worth joining the fight,' Sirius huffed out. 'This tournament is worth something.' 

Remus sighed and rubbed his hands on his face. 'So can they, though. So can they.' 

 

..........

 

Across the castle, Hermione watched carefully as the Slytherins regrouped. 

She took in every detail over the next week as they analysed each performance, discussed the merits of recruiting strong contenders to the cause, the motivations that might sway them, and then made a plan to recruit them. Rabaston, Titus, Winston, Regulus and Severus divided and aimed to conquer, targeting individuals whom they felt would have the most promise.

It was a surprise to her that these conversations were held in the open, but she tried her best not to show it. These future Death Eaters must be comfortable enough in her presence to allow her to listen in. Perhaps it was because of all the hints she'd dropped about her desire for change, her support for the ideals of 'the cause', or perhaps she'd impressed enough at their meetings, despite her sceptical mind.

It didn't matter why. All that mattered was that trust was building. 

Despite having very strong views on who they might be able to turn, and who not, she kept her mouth firmly shut. The last thing she wanted to do was influence the timeline too much. 

A few weeks later, Imbolic came round. The 7th year Slytherins were gathering in the Common Room, ready to go to the Forbidden Forest for the ritual and meeting about the cause. 

Just before they were about to leave, Winston Goyle came hobbling into the Common Room, looking battered and bruised. 

Titus eyed his friend sceptically as he collapsed into an armchair, groaning. 'I take it McKinnon is a no, then?' 

Hermione couldn't help but snort as she snapped her book shut and cast her judgmental gaze over Winston. 

Titus caught her with a harsh look. 

She managed to recover by rolling her eyes. 'Even if you'd sent someone Marlene regarded as an equal, I don't think you stood a chance with that one. Marlene's fiercely loyal to her brothers...' 

Titus sighed deeply. '...Who is in the pocket of Dumbledore... Her father's a great friend of yours, isn't he?' 

'Which is how I know,' Hermione replied defiantly, holding his gaze. 

'You weren't wrong about Lupin, either,' he conceded grumpily, turning to Severus.  'What about Amelia Bones?'

'Doubtful,' Severus replied drolly. 'She won't compromise her family's politics. But Sam Smith is on board.' 

Titus gave him an appreciative nod, tapping his fingers on the armchair and pursing his lips. 

'Eric McLaggon is also showing promise,' Rabaston said smugly. 'He's coming along tonight as well. He knows Evan from way back, so I'm sure he can be easily convinced.' 

‘You embrace sex pests, do you?’ spat Hermione, not able to help herself.  

‘Don’t be naive, Potter, he has influence,’ shot back Rabaston. 

Hermione refused to admit out loud that he was probably right. ‘Fine. Sam Smith will be eaten alive, though,’ she commented grumpily.  

‘Every war needs foot soldiers, Cariad,’ Titus replied.

Hermione gave him a nod of concession. Titus should know. After all, he would be the war general in the future, sending the lambs to the slaughter.

'Fine! As long as the cause is won, that's the important thing,' Hermione conceded.

Titus gave her a bemused smile and offered her his arm. 'On that note, shall we make our way to the forest? Evan should already be setting up...' 

Hermione got up with an exaggerated sigh and took his arm. 'Lead the way.'

'With pleasure, Miss Potter,' Titus whispered in her ear. 

Evan Rosier was waiting for them when they reached the clearing, greeting them all warmly and paying particular attention to the new recruits.

After a swift ritual, the important conversation began, with Evan keen to hear about the Duelling Contest and the talent on offer at Hogwarts. Titus and Rabaston led the charge, explaining the strengths and weaknesses of each contender, carefully flattering everyone around the circle. Hermione felt heat spread across her cheeks as they told Evan of her prowess. 

'I just used what I know,' she said modestly, batting off their praise with a wave of her arm. 

'Which is much more than most cretins in this castle,' Regulus offered back with a twinkle in his eye.

Evan cut in smoothly. 'And the Dark Lord will hear about your knowledge. He would wish for a much broader education for our young Wizards and Witches than Hogwarts currently offers.' 

Hermione nodded and offered a demure smile, which she kept plastered on her face as Evan Rosier waxed lyrical about all she could learn from Voldemort and the boundaries of magic he had stretched. She hummed in the right places, asking intelligent questions about his power and the spells he had brought back to life.

More and more, she was discovering that she couldn't entirely hide her whole self in pursuit of this mission. It was too much to expect of herself. Whenever she strayed too far from her personality, it came across as stilted and inauthentic. Her cleverness, impatience and her caring side couldn't be entirely hidden - they needed to be used. So right now in this clearing, leaning into the academic interest worked for her - it allowed her to stick to what she knew, and she thought it was making her sound all the more real for it. 

Carefully, she also tried to listen and probe more into the freedoms on offer in this new world, and the expectations of the Dark Lord for obedience.  She hoped it was enough to sow a seed of doubt in the minds of her potential followers, even if it only meant they would be more wary further down the line.

She walked back with Regulus in the early hours, a comfortable silence between them and their boots crunched on the leaves beneath them. ‘You’re not easily impressed, are you?’ he remarked. 

‘It’s the easiest way not to get disappointed,’ she retorted, bringing her hand up to her mouth and stifling a yawn. 

Regulus turned to her, his eyes glistening with a sly look as he replied. ‘Nothing to do with the influence of the Potters then?’

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked on. ‘I’ve only lived with them for a year, and I lived very differently before I was adopted. I’ve always been sceptical when things seem too good to be true.’ 

‘Faith is important, though,’ Regulus argued, turning to face her and gesturing with his hands. ‘Keeping our heritage is just too vital, Hermione.’

‘You know I agree with you. The world of freedom that the Dark Lord promises is what I want. But I think it is entirely sensible to question the methods by which we get there, and what impact it will have on our lives. It is too easy to lose yourself in war.’ 

Regulus hummed gently. They continued for a while in silence, listening to the sounds of the night fill the air; the rustle of leaves, the hoot of an owl and the soft waves of the Black Lake breaking on the shore.

‘You're uncomfortable with how I question things, aren't you?’ Hermione probed as the Castle loomed into view. 

‘I’ve been taught from a young age that family, duty and honour are everything. I don’t think it’s my place to question,’ Regulus said carefully. 

‘And you’ve seen first-hand the consequences when you do,’ Hermione said knowingly. She paused for a second, then decided to take a risk and tell him a little more. ‘Before I was sent here, I was forced into a type of war by adults I trusted, and it nearly killed me, Reg. It gives you a different perspective.’

Regulus stopped and turned toward her. His eyes narrowed, curiosity and uncertainty in his gaze. ‘You never talk about your life before.’  

This was dangerous ground. Hermione's background had never really been questioned before. There was a watertight back story, of course, but getting into it would inevitably come with risks. In a split second, she decided the best thing to do was to play it off lightly. 

‘Nobody asks!’ she snorted, giving him a rueful smile, and taking his arm.  'One suspects they are all a little too caught up in their own lives.'

Regulus gave her a light smirk. 'Are you suggesting we are surrounded by narcissists? Uneducated, uncurious heathens with no interest in the world around them?! Shocking Hermione...'  

'Never!,' Hermione deadpanned with a smirk and twinkle in her eye. 'I think I can live with it, though. My background doesn’t really matter now. This is my life, and I’ll make the best of it.'

'But you do think that means support for the cause?'

'Of course! The Dark Lord is our best hope, undoubtedly. That doesn't mean we should make decisions about involvement with the cause as critical individuals, not just for family honour alone.’

Regulus hummed. Hermione wasn't sure it was agreement, but at least he was considering her words.

 

............

 

The next morning at breakfast, she drew the attention of her fellow Slytherins.

A majestic-looking owl swept into the Great Hall and carefully deposited a letter into her hands. Hermione picked up the letter gingerly, noting the Flores crest and taking a deep breath.

The clink of cutlery around her came to a stop, and a prickle rose on the back of her neck. She could almost feel the weight of the stares of her housemates around her. Without looking up, she carefully broke the seal, opening it and scanning its contents.

 

My Dear Hermione,

Firstly, I thank you for your letter. I was always mindful that my suggestion of courtship may come early for you, and I hope you will forgive me for my boldness. 

I completely understand that you need a little more time, and I would be happy to give it to you. Your hesitancy and caution do you great credit. 

If I may be so bold, I must venture to suggest that it has made me like you all the more. Quite honestly, in my position, it is rare to find a Witch who looks past my name and demands to see me for my other merits. It cannot surprise you that there have been schemes to entrap my family more than once. 

I would love to visit you in the summer, if I may. Whatever happens between us, I hope that we can become good friends. After all, we had so much to talk about, and I would like to let a Witch who can discuss the relative merits of Advanced Transfiguration Theory slip through my fingers.

Yours faithfully,

Henrik Flores.

 

Hermine gave a satisfied sigh and closed the letter. His reply was a relief. 

‘Spill,' Parminda implored.

Hermione looked up, her eyes wide. Although Parminda asked the question, it was clear the whole table was listening. She could feel the warmth of Titus’s leg beside her, the indifferent look on his face a bit too casual to be true.  

‘There’s no formal courtship,’ Hermione replied dispassionately.

‘But?’ Parminda probed. 

‘He’s okay with my decision,’ she replied. ‘He still wants to get to know me and he’s in London in the Summer.’ 

‘So?’ Parminda demanded, clearly wanting something more salacious. 

‘We’ll see,’ Hermione said, keen not to over-emphasise the importance of this.

‘You’re just playing him,’ spat Pernilla, her eyes bulging and fingers digging into the table in front of her.

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘I know my worth, Pernilla, do you?’ 

‘He’s one of the richest men in Europe, I’m pretty sure he could buy you,’ Parminda remarked slyly. 

‘Money isn’t everything. Parminda,’ scolded Narcissa.

‘You would say that with a Malfoy locked down!’ chipped in Pernilla.

‘I think I’d rather Narcissa buy me, then,’ Hermione remarked lightly as she casually buttered her toast. ‘At least I know we’re on the same page about what matters...’ 

Narcissa looked scandalised, but the rest of the table chuckled along. 

Titus softly pulled her closer to him and whispered to her ‘You’re stuck with us then, Cariad’. 

Chapter 28: I:XXIII

In early March, the Quidditch pitch was laid out for the Quarter Finals of the Duelling Contest.

Hermione spent the dawn of the day of the contest in the Forbidden Forest with Regulus and Severus, completing a series of obscure rituals. A small chicken was sacrificed, and they went through each protective ritual they'd found in a dusty old text from the Black Library, one by one. By the time they'd finished, they each had five matching runes painted on their chests, hidden out of sight. Now Hermione was a Slytherin, it seemed natural to give themselves every advantage possible without officially cheating.

'Do we really need protection?' Severus mused as they packed their things away. 'Those dunderheads are hardly likely to bring anything worth our time to the duel.' 

'Even light magic can cause damage, Sev,' Hermione suggested lightly.

'Minimal,' Severus grumbled, turning towards the path to the Quidditch Pitch. 'I doubt if most of them could conjure up a fleabite.' 

Hermione chuckled as she followed behind him. 'Well, that's quite true. But we're not up against the dregs today, we're up against the cream of the crop.' 

'Ready to show us Dumbledore's finest display of everyday charms,' Severus deadpanned.

'I don't know,' Regulus cut in. 'Some of them come from families who have given them a wider education than the one we get here.' 

Hermione stopped and turned to him, realising they were now close to the students, coming down from the castle and not wanting them to hear their conversation. 'But they're unlikely to use those types of spells, don't you think? I can't see your brother going against his hatred of all things he doesn't consider 'light'...'

'Unlikely - yes. But I wouldn't bet against it. My brother isn't the angel his friends think he is...'

Hermione hummed, giving them both a nod as she made her way to the holding tent.

As she walked, the rushed, high-pitched sounds of excited voices filled the air. Looking up, she saw the stands were almost full for the quarter-finals. Glasses clinked and lower voices filled the air, as students and adult visitors alike were eager to see the talent on display. 

She did not have to wait long in the holding area for her duel with Rabaston Lestrange. It was the first of the day. 

Her nerves began to set alight as she wandered out onto the Quidditch Pitch to roars from Slytherin stands and a polite round of clapping from the rest of the attendees. Clenching and unclenching her fists, she scanned the crowd.

She could see that delegates from the Ministry, parents, and Pureblood elites mingled in the stands. Her adopted father, Fleamont, doffed his hat, and she smiled in response. Butterflies flew in her stomach when she saw who he was sitting with - the Minister of Magic himself, Harold Mincham.

Hermione also spotted the Malfoys, Selwyns, Gamps, and Blacks. She tried not to react when she heard the gleeful cackle of a young Bellatrix Lestrange, but it set her reactions on edge.

When the whistle blew, her hand was shaking. Instinct kicked in, though, when Rabaston fired off his first hex. Without any real thought, her wand arm raised, and she batted it away easily. 

Hermione saw Rabaston frown, as he tried again, and again without any luck. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the redness around his pupils. It emboldened her. Rabaston Lestrange was having an off day.

At least that was what he would probably tell himself later.

Hermione sprang into action.  With a whip of her wand, she conjured a storm of birds. The crowd gasped as they darkened the sky, flying in close formation as they zoomed towards Rabaston. He tried to throw up a shield, but it barely impeded the bird's progress. A storm of birds hit Rabaston at the same time, making him roar and swing his hands from side to side, until he collapsed onto the ground.

'Yield!' he shouted. 

Hermione gave a lazy wave of her wand, spiriting the birds away and leaving a bloodied Rabaston, with torn robes, panting wildly. He had been firmly beaten. 

Tuts of disappointment came from the stands. Hermione looked up to see Bellatrix and the rest of Rabaston’s relatives throwing their arms up, huffing and sighing in disappointment. 

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, heading straight up to the stands and checking her robes on the way. Luckily, she left the pitch with barely a scratch.

Her first thought was to find her adoptive Father, as she hadn't had a chance to greet him yet. So she steered herself towards the visitor's stand, scanning the crowd and seeing that Fleamont was sitting with a very impressed-looking Minister Mincham.

It wasn’t a surprise to see them together - given Fleamont had recently retired as the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and he and the Minister had always got on well. But it was an opportunity. 

Fleamont was beaming as he bent down to kiss her cheek and offer her a seat next to him. 'You did very well, child.' 

Hermione sat down gratefully, giving the Minister and Lucius Malfoy behind them a nod of recognition. 'I'm glad I didn't embarrass the Potter name. But I think James will put on the best show today.' 

‘I'm sure he'll do us proud too. But you forget Sirius is also my ward, Hermione,’ Fleamont chided her. ‘I’m expecting some serious theatrics today.’ 

‘I always thought it was better to be efficient,’ The Minister chimed in, winking at Hermione.

Hermione grinned in response, warming to the affable Minister. 'I quite agree.' 

Hermione saw her opportunity. This was her chance to get to know the Minister, and she wasn't going to waste it. She vowed to herself that she would make his day more interesting and enjoyable. The most obvious way to do this was to act as an insider on the contenders. So for the remaining duels, she fed him tidbits of insight and answered his questions as best she could. 

'This will be an interesting match,' she whispered as Titus and Lily entered the stands. 'Lily is clever, creative and motivated - but Titus is a machine...' 

Lucius Malfoy, who was sitting behind them, leaned in to whisper. 'My money is always on Titus. That boy is ruthless in a duel...'

Hermione gave him a sly smile. 'He's not bad, I suppose...' 

As the whistle blew, and two powerful hexes met in the middle of the field, it was clear the duel would be a thing to behold.

The power and force behind both of their wands took Hermione’s breath away. Neither of them appeared to break a sweat as they volleyed hex after hex, their reactions lightning fast. There was barely anything in it, and for a good five minutes, Hermione thought Titus would break Lily with the relentlessness of his spellwork and the dark edge of his Curses.

Lily capitalised on his confidence, though. Hermione was in awe as she tripped him up with some old magic, pulling tree roots from the ground to bind Titus mid-hex. A brief stumble and a simple Expelliarmus ended the duel.

Titus was left looking almost impressed that he had been outmatched.  

‘She’s the one James intends to marry, isn’t she?’ said Fleamont, with a raised brow and wide smile.

Hermione nodded in agreement. 

'She certainly has talent, especially given her background,' Harold said gleefully. 

Hermione nodded imperiously, trying not to flinch. Assumptions about Muggleborns clearly ran deep, even amongst so-called progressives. 

James was up next against Snape, and Hermione thought the contrast between duels could not be more stark. Their duel was slow, deliberate, and precise, neither man giving much ground until Severus began to unleash the darkest of his experimental Curses. In the end, a combination of James’s incredible defensive skill and Severus’s emotion won the match in Potter’s favour. 

'Another Potter victory!' Harold saluted, raising his glass to Fleamont and Hermione. 

'Let's go for the hat-trick, shall we?' Fleamont replied with a happy smile, nodding as Sirius entered the pitch. 

Hermione gulped and plastered on a smile.

She was not looking forward to the Black family duel, for there could be no positive outcomes. The sun had set, and Blacks and their Death Eater friends in the stands had a bellyful of Firewhiskey. She could see from their cackles and wild gesticulations that they were baying for Sirius’s blood. If Regulus lost, she knew there would be consequences. 

‘Care for a bet, Miss Potter?’ Malfoy drawled behind her.

‘These stands won’t last the night,’ Hermione retorted wryly.

Lucius chuckled and leaned back in his seat. ‘Regulus has come a long way, has he not?’ 

‘He’s outstanding,’ she replied easily. ‘Sirius, though, is a law unto himself.’ 

She turned to Harold Mincham. ‘We should get you another drink, Minister. This is sure to be quite the show.’ 

Hermione called a nearby elf and ordered them some Elf Wine. 

As the Elf poured the wine into their glasses, Regulus arrived in the arena. He was clad head to toe in black robes, his face stony. He barely reacted as the roars of encouragement came from the Slytherin stands. 

Sirius sauntered onto the pitch behind him, in his black t-shirt, Doc Martens, and Muggle jeans. Hermione thought the contrast was a stark one. She turned to her left, where the Lestranges and Blacks were sitting, raising her eyebrows as they hissed at him.

Sirius, though, looked completely unaffected. He turned to them, bowed theatrically and gave them a casual wink. 

He turned back, and Dumbledore whispered something to them both. After a beat, they nodded, not breaking the contact. 

When the whistle blew, Sirius threw out his hand. ‘Your move, little brother.'

And so it began.

Hermione had never seen a fight so dark.

It reminded her of a Muggle horror movie. After Regulus's first swipe of his wand, the sky darkened even further. Hermione shivered as she saw creeping mists bellowing around the arena, licking at Sirius's feet, who tutted and flicked his wand to disperse them. Sirius retaliated, throwing his wand in the air. A crackle of thunder followed, and Sirius threw his head back and laughed as Regulus jumped to avoid the fork of lightning that landed next to his feet. 

Flashes of lightning illuminated their tightly thrown curses for the next few minutes. They were all wordless, and occasionally wandless, so it was hard to tell who had thrown which spell and who had created it. Vines of Venamous Tentacular shot from the ground, trying to capture their prey, and millions of spiders scurried around the duellers. It was like a dance to the death.

Hermione was sure that Dumbledore must stop it, but he remained passive, standing at the end of the field in stillness.  

After what seemed like hours, but could have been minutes, Hermione could see Sirius was shaking and huffing, his eyes steel as he moved closer to Regulus. It reminded her of a spider, growing impatient to devour its prey.

'This is quite the spectacle,' Lucius whispered behind her. 'Do you think Regulus can take him?'

Hermione hummed noncommittally. 'I've seen that glint in Sirius's eye before. I think we're about to see him do what he's so good at...'

'Leaning on his family's spellbook, while rejecting them?' Lucius scoffed.

Hermione let out a low chuckle. 'Well, we've already seen that. He's going to surprise us.'  

At that moment, Sirius whipped his wand around and let out a stream of fire. It rose into the air and curled together, forming an enormous Fyrefire dragon. The crowd gasped and 'oo'd' as Dragon flew high above the stands. It stilled for a moment, its eyes seeming to narrow and glisten, before it let out a deafening roaring and whooshing towards Regulus.

Regulus held out his wand, and Hermione could see him begin to shout an incantation, but it was too late. Time seemed to slow as Sirius ran towards him, and Regulus's eyes widened in shock. Just as Sirius reached him, the Dragon hit Regulus, engulfing him in huge, angry flames. 

Screams of rage rang out from the left of the stands. Hermione's head whipped around, and she saw Walburga and Bellatrix jumping up, their mouths open and furious wails coming from them both. Hermione's heart fell into her chest as she had a flashback to Malfoy Manor, seeing Bellatrix's wild eyes boring into hers, looking incensed.

It only lasted a moment. Hermione's head whipped back to the pitch as she scrutinised the flames for signs of life. Her breath was caught in her throat as time seemed to stand still. Where was Regulus? What had Sirius done? He couldn't have hurt his brother, this wasn't the time...

It only took a beat for Sirius to react. A look of sheer horror passed his face, and he took in a huge breath. Quickly, instinctively, he swished his wand, chanting spells to calm the flames. His eyes were as wild and panicked as Hermione had ever seen them. 

Hermione gasped and held her hand to her mouth as the flames were finally dispersed and Regulus's charred, exhausted, and without his wand, but whole and seemingly without serious damage.

She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. The rune work they had performed that morning had protected him. 

Sirius’s wild eyes met his younger brother's wary ones, and both breathed a sigh of relief.

It wouldn't be the last time their eyes would meet over a battlefield, communicating as only siblings could.    

Chapter 29: I:XXIV

Slytherin House was understandably subdued following the duels, given that the state of the leaderboard had almost wiped them out.

Titus encouraged them to rally, though, and Hermione was impressed by his maturity. ‘We learnt so much,’ he reasoned. ‘We know exactly what we are dealing with, whether they join us or defy us.’ 

Severus nodded in agreement. Hermione suspected he was still sore from his loss, but he ultimately would always play the long game. ‘We didn't have to show our whole hand either. There’s only so much one can do within the restrictions of Hogwarts.’

‘That didn’t stop the Blacks,’ said Rabaston darkly. 

The room quietened at that statement. Regulus was still in the hospital wing, and no one had seen Sirius yet. 

At that moment, Professor Slughorn swept into the common room and made straight for Hermione. ‘You’re needed in Dumbledore’s office,’ he said gravely, sweeping around and walking back out, beckoning with his hand for her to follow.

Hermione got up slowly, suspicion written over her face. 

‘What do you think he wants?’ Severus whispered. 

‘Nothing good,’ Hermione muttered. ‘That old fool never does…’ 

She followed Slughorn through the corridors until they reached the familiar gargoyle.

’Flying Saucers!’ Slughorn rang out, humming as the stairs descended down towards them. 

‘Our Headmaster has interesting tastes,’ Slughorn chuckled, gesturing for her to climb the steps. 

She did so slowly, stepping into Dumbledore’s office with some trepidation. It was uncertain what exactly he wanted today. Interacting with the Headmaster always looked suspicious to the Slytherins, and frankly, she was still very angry with him. 

‘Miss Potter, please take a seat,’ Dumbledore offered as she entered the room. 

Hermione's eyes zeroed in on Sirius, sitting slumped in a chair, his eyes cast down. She took in his dishevelled clothes, hair and the way he was biting his fingernails and breathing erratically. He looked completely broken.

Hermione pulled up a seat next to him. She kept her eyes on Sirius as Dumbledore began his speech, her heart aching slightly at the haunted expression on his face. 

‘I have been debating with the judges all day about Sirius’s continued involvement in this tournament,’ Dumbledore started gravely, turning to Hermione. ‘I would now like to know how you feel about this, and offer you the chance not to duel him for the next round.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m duelling him,’ she answered immediately, her eyes snapping towards her Headmaster, wide and defiant. 

‘You must understand, Miss Potter, the seriousness of his and Regulus’ actions last night,’ Dumbledore continued, gravity in his tone. ‘There have been calls for his disqualification from well-known Wizards.’

Hermione scoffed. ‘And what kind of idealistic fairyland do these ‘well-known’ Wizards live in? Will we be bowing to each other politely in the war?'

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. 'I see your point, Miss Potter...'

Hermione leaned forward, not giving him an inch. 'Do you? If you did, we wouldn't be having this inane conversation.'

Dumbledore's nostrils flared. He took a beat before he replied. 'I will need you to confirm your thoughts on his continuation in the Championship verbally.' 

'I’m duelling him, and if he tries to go lightly on me, I’ll remove his balls.’ 

Dumbledore sighed, leaning back on his chair. 

‘A little far, Miss Potter, but we get your point. You are excused,’ Dumbledore smiled wryly, gesturing for her to leave. 

She swept up, dusting off her robes, and then held her head up high. She gave Dumbledore an imperious nod and then turned to Sirius. He caught her eye for a brief second, and she gave a hard look as she swept from the room. She hoped it communicated that he should feel no guilt.

He merely grimaced in response.

Determination clear in her face, she swept out of the room.

When she reached the hallway below, she let out a sigh of discontent. She needed to go back and give a report on her meeting with the Slytherins. Her mind raced, though, with thoughts that felt more pressing. On instinct, she turned in the opposite direction and headed straight into the Gryffindor common room. 

The room was quiet when she entered, and it only took one sweep of her eyes to confirm no one had seen her before she ran up the stairs to the 7th-year boys ' dormitory.

When she threw open the door, James and Remus were standing, shirtless. Luckily, Peter was fully clothed.

‘You really should knock!’ James cried, throwing a shirt over his head.

‘Overrated,’ she volleyed back, averting her eyes and digging through her school bag for the book she was looking for.

James gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘What do you want, Hermione?’ 

‘Sirius is getting out shortly. Can you make sure he gets this?’ 

Hermione handed over the book.  ‘Duelling for Beginners’. Remus wandered up to her and snorted. 

‘They’re going to let him continue then?’ Remus asked gently. 

‘Of course they are,’ she said confidently. ‘This whole tournament is ridiculous, they can’t expect the best behaviour in the middle of a bloody war!’  

‘Alright, ‘Slytherin’s only hope, we’ll do your bidding,’ James smirked. 

 

.................

 

The tournament concluded after the Easter break, so everyone involved got a welcome respite. 

James had more important things on his mind, namely, the interference of Slytherins in his head duties.

‘Why is Rabaston Lestrange demanding a weekly meeting with me?’ James grumbled as he met Hermione at the Astronomy Tower the following week. 

'I don't know, I'm not his keeper,’ Hermione shrugged, dipping her hand into the large packet of crisps they were sharing. 

‘He says he’s got some ideas for how we can ‘bring back Wizarding Pride’ and change the History of Magic Curriculum. What exactly does that mean?’

Hermione knew exactly what it meant. Rabaston needed an excuse to discuss politics with James to gauge his potential for conversion to the cause. Including Wizarding citizenship in the History of Magic Curriculum would push the agenda forward. That didn’t mean Hermione wanted to get in the middle of it all, especially given that Dumbledore would never agree to it. 

‘You’ll just have to hear him out, won’t you? That’s one of the joys of being Head Boy, I suppose. Who knows what goes through the mind of most Slytherins...'

James looked at her incredulously. 'You don't care that you don't know your housemates?' 

Hermione shrugged. 'They're not easy to read. Some might say it's more interesting that way...' 

'And Gryfindors are boring?!'

'I wouldn't say that. It's just easier to know what they want...'

James folded his arms, narrowing his eyes in mock offence. 'What do I want then?' 

Hermione gave him a feral grin. 'Come on, James, you're pretty open about that one... a certain red-haired witch?!'

James scoffed. 'Well, everyone knows about Lily. What else?'

'Respect,' Hermione said easily. 'A family one day, I imagine...' 

'Doesn't everyone want that?' 

Hermione shrugged. 'Not everyone thinks it's as important, or has the desire to be a parent... I can't see Remus, Sirius, or even Peter settling down as quickly as you would given the chance.'  

'Fine. You might have a point,' James conceded. His eyes grew hard and his lips pursed, something serious casting over his expression. 'What does Rabaston want?' 

Hermione gave him an impressed look. 'Recognition. Influence. A better world - as he sees it...' 

'A better world?' James scoffed. 

'Probably not the same one as you envisage,' Hermione offered wryly. 'But you won't know until you talk to him.'  

'What about you?' 

'I'm not sure anyone sees the world in the same way I do, James.' 

 

......... 

 

In the week before they were due to depart home for Easter Break, the Marauders had a plan. They were keen to throw an epic party for Sirius’s birthday to make up for his awful experience the previous year.

Hermione respectfully declined Remus’s invitation, earning her a thoughtful look from the young Werewolf. She knew he wouldn’t understand how attending would look to the Slytherins. She couldn’t let loose in Hogwarts.

Parminda, however, had other ideas. 'Please come with me, Hermione,' she begged in the Slytherin Common Room the night beforehand. 'I'll make it worth your while.'

'I'm not sure that's a good idea, 'minda,' Hermione replied, aware of Titus's thoughtful stare as he listened in to their conversation. 'Those parties are not my idea of a good time...' 

'But they might be fruitful,' Titus cut in, a twinkle in his eye.

'Are you serious?' Hermione asked, throwing her head back and giving him an incredulous look.

‘They are still Purebloods, and we can’t deny their talent. Sirius hasn’t completely given up on the old ways. If there’s a chance of bringing them into the fold, we should take it, before it’s too late,’ Titus reasoned. 

'Fine,' Hermione sighed. 'But I'm only staying for an hour, 'minda.' 

The next evening, she dressed carefully, ensuring she would blend in as much as possible, without compromising her supposed Pureblood modesty. 

Regulus caught her and Parminda in the Slytherin Common Room before they left, a package in his hand. ‘You may want to add this to the presents from his adoring fans,’ he said lightly. 

Hermione nodded carefully, taking them from him and examining them in her hand, knowing they would mean something to Sirius. 

'Come on! I don't want to be late!' Parminda demanded, grabbing Hermione's arm and steering her out of the dungeons and up the stairs. 

'Alright, keep your hair on! Fashionably late is a thing, though, ' Hermione grumbled.

'So is bringing something fun to a party. Please tell me you brought the good Firewhiskey.' 

'Obviously,' Hermione promised. 

When she and Parminda entered the Gryffindor Common Room, the party was already in full swing.

The birthday boy was holding court in the middle of the room, eyes wide and glassy, joy alight on his face. Hermione felt herself warm at the sight. At least he wasn't brooding anymore. 

'I'm off to find someone hot and willing,' Parminda stated, abandoning Hermione and heading for a group of wary-looking Ravenclaws. 

Hermione snorted, turning to see James bounding towards her. He pulled her in for a bear hug, 'Alright, sis? Can I get you some punch?'

'What's in it?' Hermione asked warily.

'Only good things!' James smiled broadly.

'Don't believe a word of it,' Lily chastised fondly, coming up and snaking her arm around James, a light blush forming on her cheeks. 'It's deadly stuff.' 

'I'll take a Babysham,' Hermione smiled. 

James looked a bit lost, staring into Lily's eyes, until she gave him a nudge. 'Let's get your sister a drink, shall we?' 

'Oh, yeah, right?' James replied sheepishly.  

Hermione surveyed the party for a while, watching the Gryffindors lounging, laughing and getting far closer than she was used to in Slytherin. She felt a pang in her heart and she remember her own time in this room, where she Ginny, Harry, Ron and Neville would draped themselves over each other. No one in Gryffindor ever had any sense of personal space.

Remus came up to her, handing her a glass of Babysham. ‘From James. He's a bit distracted...'

Hermione giggled as Remus pointed at James and Lily snogging in the corner. 

'The snakes have let you out then?’ Remus remarked mildly. ‘I thought it was too risky for your reputation to be here.’ 

‘Well, they must have an ulterior motive then,’ she shot back pointedly. 

‘Don’t tell me that package is a bomb?’ Remus cried, pointing at her present from Regulus and putting on a mock-shocked face. 

‘Far too Muggle and vulgar, Remus,’ she replied in a mock snotty tone. ‘Some sweets from Regulus, actually.’ 

‘Ah, I see,’ he said knowingly, guiding her across the room and gesturing to a discreet corner. ‘Snuggle up here then, I’m going to try and dislocate the birthday boy from his harem.’

Hermione tucked herself into the comfy chairs behind a pillar. It was clearly the perfect place for clandestine activities. There weren’t enough of these in Slytherin, she thought idly, as she relaxed into the space. 

‘You look good in my favourite spot, kitten,’ Sirius purred in the slightly slurred voice as he slid down beside her. 

‘I assure you, I won’t be acting like your normal companions,’ she smiled back, her heartbeat faltering slightly at the sight of him. Why did he have to be quite so good-looking? That bone structure should really be illegal. It was highly distracting. 

The worst of it was the way he looked at her as if she were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. Hermione knew he was naturally flirtatious, she'd seen him smirk, wink and lean forward at various paramours and watched them melt into a puddle beside him. Somehow, the looks he gave her always seemed different, more loaded and meaningful. 

Perhaps, though, that was what all the Witches (and a fair few Wizards) around him told themselves. Perhaps he made them all feel different, special, and seen. 

She shook herself lightly. It would do to examine that feeling too closely. Complications were unhelpful to her plan. 

She took a deep breath as he grinned that devilishly handsome way, and he eyed the package in her hand. ‘A gift for me. You shouldn’t have.’

‘I didn’t,’ she clarified. ‘This is a suggested addition to your party, from Regulus,’ she said, handing him the sweets.

The look on Sirius's face was bittersweet as he opened the package and sighed deeply. ‘I miss him. Or at least the Reg who used to keep me up all night, eating these damn things.’ 

This she could handle. Affection flooded through her veins as she considered how rare it was for Sirius to open up about his brother, and what a gift it was that he had done so with her.

Instinctively, she reacted as she would with Harry, Ron or James. She snuggled into him, offering him warmth and the power of human touch. Giving him a small smile, she bumped her side into him gently. ‘I might have got you something as well,’ she said slyly, handing over an envelope. 

He ripped it open and stared at the tickets with awe. ‘You got me Led Zeppelin tickets? Are you serious?!’ 

‘I know a girl,’ she shrugged. 

Sirius's eyes were bright, and his body still for a moment, searching her face with a look that seemed like awe. In a flash pounced on her, pulling her into a firm hug and refusing to let go.

Hermione could not help but inhale. That scent, so warm, musky and masculine, flooded her senses.

Even more intoxicating was the feeling of his leanly muscled arms engulfing her. Her body tingled as the warmth of his strong body seeped into hers. She could barely think; it was so overwhelming. 

For a moment, they lingered, suspended in time.

Hermione came to her senses with a deep intake of breath. She coughed lightly, and they both pulled back slowly, as if reluctant to lose each other's warmth. Both of their eyes were blackened, and Hermione could feel the heavy beat of her heart and the thrum of his. 

She had to try to break the spell. ‘Take James. He could do with some more Muggle culture lessons.’

‘You’re not going?’ he asked, sounding somewhat upset.

‘I didn’t say that,’ she smirked.

‘Who are you going with? Severus?!’ He scoffed. 

‘Jimi, actually,’ she said serenely, a big smile on her face.

‘Jimi who?’ Sirius demanded.

Hermione merely smirked and sidled out of the booth, heading for the exit. 

She turned to face him one last time, sadness and fondness tugging at her heartstrings. ‘Have fun tonight, Sirius.’

 

................

 

Sirius took Hermione’s words very seriously and made the most of the evening, which became more and more blurry. 

It wasn’t a surprise to him when he woke up the next morning with a banging headache, sprawled over the sofa, entangled with the lithe form of gorgeous Ravenclaw. A blonde. It always seemed easier that way. He avoided any chance of mistaking her for another Witch he knew... 

What was her name again? He wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

He stumbled up to his dormitory, groaning as he collapsed on his bed, only to be woken by an incessant tap on the window. 

'Bloody owls!' he croaked out.  

‘It’s for you, Padfoot,’ whispered a hoarse-sounding Remus, handing him a letter.

‘It better be a hangover cure,’ Sirius moaned, ripping the envelope open with a dramatic flourish. 

He scanned the contents, breathing quick, shallow breaths as he took them in. 

‘Shit!’ he exclaimed. 

‘What’s up?’ Remus said gently, sitting down beside him and reading over his shoulder. 

‘Uncle Alf…’ Sirius pushed the words out, his head in his hands. ‘He died last week.'

'Oh, Sirius,' Remus said gently.

'What does the letter say?' Pete asked with a nervous squeal. 

'The old rebel’s gone and left all his worldly possessions to yours truly. Guess I won’t be relying on handouts anymore, Prongs,’ he said weakly, trying to brush away his pain.

Alfard was the only member of his family Sirius liked, bar Andromeda. 

‘Come here, Padfoot,’ James said sadly, pulling him into a bear hug, which the other Marauders dutifully joined. ‘We’re your family. Always will be.’ 

Chapter 30: I:XXV

Hermione and the Marauders' arrival at Potter Manor for the Easter break brought more news.

Fleamont pulled Hermione directly into his study and wasted no time getting her updated. An offer from the Minister of Magic needed an immediate response.  

'Harold's shown an interest in you,' Fleamont said bluntly, as he sat down at his desk.

'An interest?' Hermione questioned, sitting down carefully opposite him. 

'You impressed him at the Duelling Contest with your insights and your confidence. Not many people can handle someone that powerful without being scared or sycophantic.'

'So what does this mean?'

'He wants to know if you would be interested in working in his office when you graduate...' 

'Wow,' Hermione whispered, her mind racing with the possibilities.

Fleamont raised his brows and gave her a small smile, his eyes twinkling. ‘I assured him of the solid expectations for your academics and my absolute belief in your trustworthiness. He has seen how your brain works, Hermione, and is comfortable with you as a Potter. This feels like a real opportunity.’

It was, and she would be mad not to pursue it, given how close she would be to the locus of power.

She squashed down the voice in her head from the old version of herself, who huffed about nepotism. She had to do whatever was necessary. 

She smiled in agreement. 'Well then, the only answer is yes, isn't it?' 

‘Indeed. I’ve also had some conversations of a more delicate nature with Euphemia's family,’ He continued. ‘My understanding is that the younger Nott boy is beginning to show an interest. He’s making moves that suggest he may state his intentions towards you shortly.’

Hermione let out a long, low breath, her eyes darting about as she considered the possibilities. She'd hoped, rather than known, that Titus was serious about her. There were many times that she thought she'd done too much or too little. Perhaps, she had done just enough. 

This was a step in the right direction. It suggested that maybe her long-term plan was actually viable, as crazy and impossible as it had originally seemed. To be a part of one of the families of Death Eaters got her as close to her goal as she could be.

That it was working should have been a cause for celebration, but she needed to tread very carefully. 

She let the silence linger. ‘I think… that I’m not entirely opposed....'

Fleamont merely hummed. 

Hermione tilted her head, speaking slowly as she continued. 'I would consider entertaining it. That is not to say that I would not tread extremely cautiously.’

‘You would do well too, given the circumstances.’ Fleamont sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. ‘It may come to nought. Let’s wait and see what their next move is. You must always consider your safety, though, Hermione. None of this is worth anything without it.’

Hermione could not agree with that one. She hadn’t come here to protect her safety.

She only needed to stay alive long enough to complete her mission. 

 

.....................

 

Hermione woke at dawn. The light was only beginning to peak through the curtains, but she had tossed and turned all night, too wired to sleep. 

She jumped up, threw on her clothes, and headed to the window, throwing the curtains open.  Staring at the lightening sky, she could still see the outline of the full moon, getting fainter and fainter with every second as the sun began to rise. The morning mist swirled around their gardens, and all was almost eerily silent. 

Somewhere out in the forest, the Marauders were taking care of Moony. 

Hermione had tried not to show her awareness, as she'd watched them ward an area of woodland the day before, clearly preparing it for Remus's transformation. James had asked her if she was ‘staying in tonight’ to make it a bit more obvious. Hermione had scoffed, staring at the full moon, and stating 'of course'.  She watched hidden behind this curtain last night, as the four Marauders walked across the lawns to the woodlands beyond, trying to keep her hammering heart from beating too wildly in her chest. Theoretically, she knew they did this every month. Still, seeing them walking so casually towards danger hurt her heart a little. 

There was no sign of them coming out of the forest yet. Hermione paced up and down beside her window, watching the treeline and willing them to come out. She should probably stay hidden and watch from here, but the restless hum zipping through her body wouldn't allow her to.

So she pulled on a jumper and made her way downstairs, through the kitchens and then onto the lawns outside.

It didn't surprise her to find Euphemia in the same spot.

'I take it you know then?' Euphemia whispered in a resigned voice. Hermione could see that her face was drawn, with dark circles under her eyes. 

Hermione nodded. 'I knew him when I was a teenager.' 

Euphemia hummed. 'It's hard to sleep on these nights.' 

Euphemia and Hermione stood in silence then, staring out onto the lawns, willing the boys to return to them, unharmed.

Finally, the silhouette of four figures cut through the mist.

The two largest were holding up a tall, lanky figure, whose head was bowed. As they got closer, they saw it was Sirius and James with Remus's arm wrapped around them. Remus appeared to be blood-soaked and limping.

Hermione took a deep intake of breath and a step forward, desperate to assess his battered state.

Sirius stilled when he saw them, a hard look of suspicion on his face. James, though, urged him to carry on, dragging Remus towards them.

'Let's get you to the Drawing Room,' Euphemia said in a gentle voice to Remus.

He merely groaned in response, allowing James and Sirius to drag him into the house and set him down on the sofa.

Hermione watched as Euphemia cast diagnostic charms, breathing a little bit easier when she saw nothing was broken. She conjured up a bowl of water, and working together, they carefully removed Remus's robe and treated his cuts, bruises, and larger wounds.

When they were done, they levitated him up the stairs to a guest bedroom, laying him down in his room to rest.

Hermione dozed in his armchair as he slept, waking only when she heard his croaky voice whisper to her.

His voice sounded haunted and broken when he spoke. ‘How long have you known?’ 

Hermione's eyes shot open. She held eye contact and spoke briskly. ‘Not long after I got here. It’s not hard to see the pattern if you know the signs.’

Remus's face twisted, and his eyes widened. ‘You know the signs?’ he cried, incredulously. 

‘I knew someone with Lycanthropy,’ Hermione said gently, leaning forward on her armchair. ‘He was the best teacher I ever had. I miss him.’ 

Remus looked almost pained. He took a deep sigh and screwed his eyes shut. ‘I understand if you don’t want to be around me.’ 

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Hermione chided him lightly. ‘I've known for a long time, Remus. It changes nothing.’

 

.............

 

Sirius came to her that evening looking more intense than she’d ever known of him.

Hermione knew he hadn't been doing well since the news of his Uncle Alphard’s death. Still, the anger radiating off him shook her a little.

She had thought that they were getting somewhere. There had been a truce of sorts over the last couple of months, and although she didn't expect his full trust, the way he looked at her right now hurt a little. 

Hermione wouldn't show that hurt, though. She would meet fire with fire. 

Sirius grabbed Hermione roughly by the arm and pulled her into a darkened room. ‘Why did you never mention you knew about Remus?’ he demanded, almost throwing her against a wall. 

The waxing moonlight filtered in from a nearby window, casting Sirius in an eerie glow. It sharpened the cut of his cheekbones and made his eyes darker and more inhuman somehow. Hermione thought he’d never looked quite so beautiful or so deadly. 

‘Why would I?’ Hermione asked with a hiss, digging her nails into the flesh of his arm. If it hurt, he didn’t let it show. ‘It’s a secret that could ruin his life, Sirius, as you well know. Why would I risk exposing that?’

‘I know how secrets work in Slytherin,’ he scoffed. ‘You bide your time…’

‘Until what?’ Hermione demanded angrily, pushing herself off the wall aggressively, and rolling her shoulders, her chin aloft and defiant.  

‘Until you need to exert some leverage,’ he replied darkly.

The silver of his eyes sparkled, and his irises grew, their darkness expanding, engulfing, taking over. Their blackened depths enraged Hermione further. 

‘So I’m playing the long game, am I?’ Hermione cried. ‘Waiting to bribe Remus at the opportune moment?!’ 

She jabbed her finger into his chest, meeting his solidness. She hadn’t realised she's gotten so close.

‘Maybe!’ he said defiantly.

‘What on earth am I supposed to say to that?’ Hermione shot back, incredulous. 

‘Deny it!’ Sirius roared, pushing his body forward so she had to take a step back. 

He was looming over her now, practically caging her in, making her aware of just how much bigger and taller he was than she was. It should be intimidating, but her long-buried Gryffindor courage rose up. She would not let him get to her. 

‘Okay, denied. Did that help?’ She deadpanned, looking into his still blazing eyes and waiting for a beat. ‘I thought not. There’s not a thing I could say to convince you, your prejudice is too far gone.’

‘My prejudice?!’ 

‘There is nothing in the world that could convince you to trust a Slytherin,’ she replied, rounding on him. ‘You’ll only ever think the worst. But the crazy thing is, you know the worst of how we operate because you can do it too. You can’t unlearn years and years of manipulation, just because you’ve found something much more fulfilling. So go on, do what you want to do. Act like a snake.’ 

They were almost nose to nose now, breathing in each other's hot breaths, searching each other's expressions for a crack in their armour. 

Sirius’s hand came to settle on the wall behind her, ghosting the nape of her neck. It took all her effort to repress a shudder.

His voice was low, hot, and heavy when he answered. ‘If you ever breathe a word about what Remus is to anyone, I will ruin you. You know I can do this. Your Slytherin friends don’t know half of what you get up to in this Manor, how you act, how much like a filthy Muggle you can be.’

She placed her hand on his chest and felt his heart beat wildly, caught in a trance as he gently wound his fingers into her curls. Hermione didn't quite understand what was happening. A heat was growing in her lower belly, and a wave of dizziness washed over her.  

Still, she continued to push. ‘And what will happen if you do tell them?’ she whispered, her eyes tracing the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his lips.

‘Your reputation will be in tatters. You’ll be lucky if you leave that snake pit alive,’ he hissed, tugging her curls slightly and gently massaging her scalp. 

The shockwave of electric energy that shot down her spine stole her breath away. 

Something clicked within her. A triumph of sorts that she had pulled out the most vicious side of him, and set it free. Or was it just that they were lost together in this moment, the world narrowed so that all that mattered was making each other feel.

'Okay,’ she whispered, unable to articulate anything more profound. She blinked slowly as she felt his hand grip her hip, and his fingers began to trace maddening circles.

That electric energy zapped in her lower body again, stronger this time. It was a burst of pure pleasure, like nothing she’d ever felt before. 

‘Okay?’ He asked, spellbound, leaning in towards her. 

A stern voice interrupted them then. Fleamont stood in the doorway, arms folded and eyes blazing.

‘Sirius. A word?’

Chapter 31: I:XXVI

Hermione was distracted.

Ever since that day in the library, she could feel a restless energy thrumming through her body. Something inside of her seemed to have awoken. A dormant beast, stirring, stretching, testing - making itself known. 

On the day she travelled back to Hogwarts, that feeling had taken over her more than once. Even after running away from Sirius as fast as she could when she boarded the Hogwarts Express and sighing with relief as she found a carriage full of Slytherins, that low buzz within her remained. More than once, Severus and Regulus had directed a question at her, and her attention was elsewhere. Mingled breaths. A clash of wills. Strong hands gripping her thighs. 

To be this distracted was a dangerous, dangerous thing. 

It was stupid to have pushed Sirius, of course. Even more unwise to have let herself get carried away in the moment. She didn't blame him at all for threatening her - no matter how she'd reacted, she would have done the same for Harry or Ron. Those words, so cutting and vicious, had twisted into something much more frightening, something heated, powerful and impossible for her to define. Nothing in her sheltered life had prepared her for an argument turning into whatever that was.   

No matter how unwise, it changed nothing. Hermione could not devote any time or energy to unpacking it. So it got stored away in the depths of her mind, just like so many other infuriating memories of that Wizard. Ignore, deny, deflect - the mantra that Draco had once taught her. There was nothing else to do.

She needed to focus. 

So when she returned to her dorm room and felt that something in the atmosphere had shifted,  her alertness came flooding back.

Casting her gaze over a lounging Narcissa, a dull-eyed Pernilla and a yawning Parminda, she could see that the energy had dropped. Why?

Hermione pushed down her restless energy and put all her reserves into focusing. Whatever had caused this shift could matter. She needed to be hyper-aware of what was going on with these Witches if she was going to influence the future.  

'Before you ask - there's been progress. Father had a meeting with the Guptas over the break. Mother's ecstatic,' Parminda grumbled as she threw a Witch Weekly  at Hermione.'Ajay is 'exactly the calibre of Wizard I should be attracting...' 

Hermione screwed up her face and scanned the profile Parminda had been reading. Ajay Gupta. Presumably, Parminda potential fiancee. He wasn’t bad-looking - young, at least, with kind eyes. Filthy rich, by the sounds of the editorial. She took a deep, calming breath and tried not to smile too widely at Parminda's theatrics. Courting was supposed to be a serious business. 'Congratulations?' she said uncertainly. 

'Are you trying to get rid of me, Potter?'

'Never,' Hermione smiled. 'You're far too fun to have around.'

'As long as you miss me when I'm thousands of miles away in India...'

'I thought you said he spent most of his time in France?' Pernilla snapped, throwing down her outer robes on the bed. 

'Well, that would be wonderful!' Narcissa practically sang, her voice loud and joyful - completely at odds with the other Witches in the room. 'The international Floo is so easy these days, and you can come and visit the Malfoy Chateau on the South Coast!' 

Pernilla's eyes narrowed, and she huffed out a breath.  

Hermione tried to ignore the bitter Witch and focus on the allies she could work with. 'I think I'll take Lucretia Black up on her invitation to visit this summer as well. We won't be far away...' 

'Lucretia?' Pernilla scoffed, raising her brows and flaring her nostrils. 'If you want to get caught up in a scandal, I suppose...' 

Hermione's blood boiled, but she tried to keep her tone even when she replied. 'Thankfully, there'll be plenty of escorts available. Regulus will be joining, of course.'

Pernilla tutted. 'That won't help. I wouldn't be caught dead at an event that might compromise my reputation...' 

Hermione snapped her book shut. 'Don't you worry about my reputation. I'd worry more about turning down an invitation to Narcissa's wedding in that case. I presume Lucretia will be there?'

'Of course she will,' Narcissa tutted. 'Everyone who is anyone will...'

'I didn't mean...' Pernilla began, turning to Narcissa and holding up her hands.

'That's quite alright,' Narcissa replied magnanimously. 'I'm just so happy things are looking up for us all!'  

Parminda arched an eyebrow at Hermione, who smiled back in amusement. 

Things were certainly looking up for Narcissa. Hermione thought her fine mood was understandable, given she'd spent the Easter holidays preparing for her lavish wedding in the Summer. The blush that spread over her cheeks when she spoke of Lucius suggested he was always making her surprisingly happy. Hermione was sure Lucius was coaxing Cissa to be intimate before their marriage vows. Not that either of them would mention anything, of course. 

If Hermione were in a giving mood, she could admit that Pernilla had no such luck. Her perceived injustices in husband-hunting in Bavaria and Hermione’s subsequent success with Henrik Flores were bound to lead to jealousy. Still, Pernilla's tightly wound-up demeanour and constant lashing out at Hermione were beginning to get tiresome. 

Hermione didn’t know how bad it had got, though- until Parminda dropped the bomb. 

Parminda narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, her stare calculating, before she idly checked her nails for imperfections. Her voice was nonchalant when she spoke. ‘Well, at least my parents aren’t trying to betroth me to Goyle, I suppose…’

Pernilla froze. Hermione didn’t think she had ever seen such a look of pure thunder. If she were Parminda, she might be worried for her life. 

Hermione couldn’t hide her reaction as her head swung back and forward between the two witches. It couldn’t mean that Pernilla was going to be forced to court Winston Goyle, could it? 

‘You’re in discussions with Winston’s parents?’ Hermione squeaked out. 

Pernilla closed her eyes and squeezed her hands into fists, ignoring Hermione entirely.

Parminda’s expression broke out with glee. ‘Oh yes! We may be looking at the future Mrs Goyle…’

Hermione gulped, knowing she would have to say something but struggling to work out what. Congratulations would be the usual response. It was hard to ignore that Winston was an absolute troll, though. ‘That’s… that’s… a surprise…’

Pernilla’s eyes snapped towards Hermione. The venom in her stare was so potent that Hermione visibly recoiled. The power of her wrath felt like a whiplash. 

Narcissa cleared her throat and gave a hum. ‘As I’ve said many times before, Winston may not be your first choice, but there are advantages. You’ll be able to wrap him around your finger if you play things right. Which you will, of course.’ 

Pernilla’s eyebrows twitched.

’That's one benefit of a stupid husband, I suppose,’ Parminda said archly. 

Hermione gulped and wisely kept her mouth shut. 

Narcissa continued, undeterred. ‘And he’s such a great friend to Malfoy! We’ll be so close, just like always!’   

It only dampened Pernilla's rage. Hermione could see her shoulder relaxing a little as she let out a little hum of agreement. 

Her eyes remained narrowed and fixed on Hermione, though.

It didn't matter that Hermione had nothing to do with her perceived failures. Pernilla had to take her wrath out on someone. Hermione just had to hope she could dodge it somehow.  

 

............

 

The workload in the 7th year felt extreme in the run-up to NEWTS, even to Hermione.

From the sweaty brows, late nights and anxious ticks of her yearmates, she could see even the most intelligent amongst them suffered somewhat. Hermione spent hours studying in the library with Severus, who at least hadn't succumbed to full-blown anxiety.

Results mattered to him, though. Hermione had observed over the last few years flinching every time money was mentioned, pulling uncomfortably at his old robes and looking on enviously at the riches of his housemates. The diligence he showed in his studying would help him get the marks he needed for a scholarship for his Potions Mastery. 

Hermione was also aware that, despite her intelligence and background, she needed to put in some effort to study.  Her offer of a position with the Minister of Magic was too important to lose out on if she didn't excel. It had felt like sheer luck to secure that position. Like the good Slytherin she had become, she needed to do everything she could to take advantage of it.

NEWTS could not be the only thing she focused on, though. They were no preparation for the reality she was about to enter. To prepare for war, she would need more practical experience.

At least, she mused, the Duelling Championship had some benefits. 

'Potter, a word,' Titus demanded, holding out his arm one evening in the Slytherin Common Room, gesturing for her to join him, Rabaston, Regulus and Severus.

'What schemes are you trying to embroil me in now?' Hermione asked wryly as she sat down beside them. 'I'm a little busy with studying for anything that's not really important.'  

'We're only here to help,' Rabaston said innocently, pouring out a Firewhiskey and handing it to her. 

Hermione snorted, but accepted the drink nonetheless. 

'So cynical,' Titus smirked. 'You just so happened to be Slytherin's last chance at glory at this Duelling Contest. It's in our interests to make sure you're prepared.' 

'How?'

'Severus has invented a few new curses, and Regulus here has a few family secrets which might tip the scales in your favour. I'll help with the rest,' Titus shrugged.  

Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'Are you sure that's worth your time? I'm hardly a soldier - you all know this. You're not training me for war.' 

Regulus smirked. 'We're aware that a drop of blood might render you useless, yes...' 

Hermione huffed in mock annoyance and slapped him lightly on the leg, earning her a laugh from them all.

She then fell back into her armchair and sighed. 'Fine! Just don't expect miracles...' 

Titus held up his hands in submission. 'No pressure,' he promised. 'But I can't say I won't enjoy putting you through your paces...' 

Hermione tried not to smirk too widely in response. A chance to get closer to Titus and work out if the rumours about his genuine interest in her were true was exactly what she needed. Or at least, what her mission needed. 

 

..............

 

Hermione entered the Quidditch Pitch feeling as prepared as she possibly could be. 

Titus's training regime has been brutal and exhausting, but no matter how much her muscles screamed at her, it was worth it. Days and nights spent being put through her paces had honed her skills and strengthened her bond with him. He'd given very little away about his intentions, but she could feel him watching her, assessing her, and she hoped, if she was reading him right, that he was impressed with what he saw. 

She did everything in her power to show Titus and the other Slytherins who had helped how capable and hard-working she could be when she put her mind to it. Hermione had to hope that would only benefit her in the future. Whether Titus truly saw her Pureblood wife material, she wasn't sure - but that was a problem for another day.

For now, most importantly, she felt ready to face her opponent today. 

Sirius Black. 

Hermione had done her best to ignore him since their 'altercation' in the Potter library, and for the most part, it had worked.

She'd seen the slightly guilty looks he'd been casting her way for the last couple of weeks. Hermione didn't know if it was his threats or almost compromising her reputation that was driving it, but she didn't know or care. Sirius had always burned hot and burned out quickly. The important thing was that she'd managed not to engage.  

In that time, she'd forced her brain to think logically about what had happened, accept it and try to make the best of it. Pragmatism was a weapon, after all. Draco would be proud.   

As she watched out on the pitch, she saw the excitement in the stands appeared to have reached a fever pitch. The crowd looked so tightly packed that she could barely make out individual faces. But she could see the way the bodies were jumping up and down, throwing their hands in the air, and pointing down below at her. 

Ignoring the roar of the crowd, she took a deep breath and focused on Sirius, sauntering up to her with an arrogant gait and an easy smile on his face. 

‘I have no intention of going easy on you, kitten,’ Sirius purred as they came face to face. 

‘I have no intention of letting you,’ she replies serenely, ignoring the unhelpful thump in her heart that always reared its ugly head whenever he was around.

Hermione very much doubted she could beat Sirius by any conventional means. He was a phenomenal dueller, and she was convinced he could one day rival Dumbledore himself. She would have to be creative and use the one thing she knew about Sirius that might throw him off balance.

He wanted her. 

After the ‘incident’ in the library, there was no denying it. Whatever was between them, it was more than Sirius’s well-worn routine of flirtation. It was fire, burning hot and bright, and both of them were caught up in the flames. 

In the days after the incident, Hermione had been in pure panic. But now, she was different. She knew she couldn’t afford to feel this way - this pure burning lust was the opposite of helpful right now. Pushing those feelings down, locking them in a box deep in her mind, and leaving them there to fester was necessary.

Today, though, she had a use for it. 

So as Hermione raised her wand and looked into those steely silver eyes, she resigned herself.

She would set it free and watch him burn. 

As the whistle blew, neither of them moved for a second. Their eyes locked, and they both raised their wands in synchrony, in a slow, deliberate move that mirrored each other.

Then a twitch in Hermione's eye and a twinkle in his, and they seemed to make the decision to act at the same time. Within a split second, both of them shot the same spell at each other, their sparks meeting in the middle.

The first few rounds were almost playful. Hermione's mind was completely blank as they danced around each other, testing their defences.

She could feel the moment when he let loose. The force of the spells he sent to her felt so much stronger than she had ever felt before; the speed at which he volleyed them and her inability to predict them put her on the back foot. It felt like Sirius was at an obvious advantage in every move.

It was only when Hermione set a pack of black dogs on him with a knowing smirk that she saw a crack in his armour. 

He narrowed his eyes then, and the Black family Curses came out to play. Hermione held her breath and allowed her instincts to take over as a series of hexes rained down upon her. It took all her strength to deflect them.

Hermione shot back a series of Regulus specials, confusing Sirius with Severus’s unknown Curses, but he was too quick and creative in his retorts, and she was beginning to tire. 

It was time to begin the mind games.

Hermione had spent much of her free time before and after she’d arrived in this time studying the art of mind control. She was a strong Occlumens, and she knew Sirius would be as well, so she wouldn’t be able to break down his defences. 

She didn’t want to get into his mind, though; she wanted him to get into hers. She’d taught herself to throw her thoughts, not fully formed, but in a series of images and feelings. It was exhausting work and more challenging with an Occulmens, but she thought that if she chose the right thought, it might just throw him. 

She started gently, throwing the feeling of their breaths mingling and hearts beating out of their chests in that darkened room in Potter Manor.

Sirius stilled momentarily, thrown, shivering as if the feeling was washing over him. His eyes cocked quizzically as she stalked closer to him, never breaking contact. 

Hermione shot back the image of his large hands gripping onto her hips, and the shot of pleasure that ran down her spine that day. Slowly, she stalked closer to him, getting close enough so they were standing a few feet away from each other. 

Sirius stumbled back in shock at the force of it, his eyes blackened with lust. 

She didn’t hesitate, running towards him, grabbing his wand arm and throwing him over her shoulder so he hit the ground on his back with a thump.

He caught her ankle with his leg, bringing her down with him, and instinctively threw her onto her back, pinning her to the ground.

He forgot about her knee, though, which hit him squarely where it would hurt the most. Somehow, he managed to retaliate, throwing a wandless freezing charm, which hit her squarely in the chest. 

They were both down and wandless, and Hermione was frozen, not able to move.

'Halt!' Dumbledore cried, running onto the pitch.

Hermione felt her whole body turn to mush as Dumbledore cast his wand over her and released her from the freezing spell. She sank into the earth, breathing heavily as relief washed over her body.

Madam Pomfrey held out her hand, and Hermione took it gratefully, allowing herself to be pulled up. She stood still for a moment as Madam Pomfrey cast her wand over her, nodding when she was satisfied there was no major damage. 

Hermione nodded and gave a grateful smile, hobbling over to Parminda, who was waiting for her at the side of the pitch.

’Well, well, well, Potter, you are a sly one, aren’t you?’ 

Hermione sighed, taking Parmindas' arm. ‘I’m a tired one now…’

Parminda gave an evil little cackle as she steered Hermione towards the stands. ‘Of course you are. He really put you through your paces.’ 

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave a breathless little laugh. ‘You’re incorrigible, ‘minda.’

Parminda steered them up the stairs and then out into the Slytherin stands. ‘No, I’m just a bit more blatant about it. You’re the sly fox we’ve got to watch out for. I’ve never seen Sirius Black look so in awe of a Witch.’

Hermione scoffed, walking towards the 7th-year Slytherins and accepting their pats on her back.

'She wasn't the only one who was impressed,' Ranbaston offered with a smirk. 'Anyone who can throw that Blood Traitor off balance is a bloody hero.' 

Titus's look was inscrutable, and for a moment, Hermione was concerned. He must have known she was playing with Sirius's attraction to her, even if they could tell exactly what she'd done. But when he whispered in her ear, she breathed a sigh of relief. 'You had him on his knees for you, Cariad. I think Salazaar would have been proud.'

She straightened her back and replied primly. 'I hope so. It was worth it for a good cause.' 

'If they don't give that to you, it will be a travesty,' Regulus said curtly.

Hermione raised her brows and shook her head. 'He had me frozen at the end, Reg. I don't think it's going my way...' 

A horn sounded, and Dumbledore's voice rang out in the stands. 'The Victory is Awarded to Sirius Black!' 

There was a beat, where Narcissa and Parminda gasped loudly beside her, and then the whole Slytherin stand erupted into hisses and boos. 

Hermione gave a rueful little laugh, holding up her hands to them all in concession. She wasn't at all concerned with her defeat. Getting this far was enough to stand out and be of interest, without the weight of winning. If she'd gone further, there was a danger of being drafted as a soldier in this war.  

Across the stands, she saw Sirius being thrown in the air and put down again by his Marauders. He, like her, was brushing his supporters off.

For a moment, she caught her eye, and he stilled, giving her a look that almost appeared like he was in pain. The idiot obviously didn’t want to win that way.

She gave him a small, wry smile to show him she was completely unconcerned. 

Titus came to sit down next to Hermione, his careful gaze watching her. 'I will never understand why Gryffindors can't be happy about a victory if it doesn't suit their precious honour.' 

Hermione raised a wry eye. 'You don't have to understand. Just appreciate that it makes them at least somewhat predictable...'  

Titus gave her a conspiratorial grin. 'One day I'm going to ask you to tell me all about how you beat him.'

Hermione grinned back, getting a bit lost in the intensity of his gaze. 'I don't give out my secrets away lightly, you know...'

'But you might give them out, give the right incentive?'

Hermione folded her arms and tilted her head back, mock imperiously. 'Perhaps. For the right Wizard...' 

Titus' eyes flashed, and his grin grew wider. 'Here comes your brother. What are the chances of him bowing out to his lady love in some chivalrous act?' 

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. 'I'm not sure the bookies would be silly enough to take a bet against that...' 

Silence fell as James and Lily arrived on the pitch.

As the whistle blew, Hermione narrowed her eyes, scrutinising their stances. It was clear this battle was going to be a different beast.

As Lily and James threw minor hexes back and forth, Hermione could see them furiously whispering at each other at the same time. They seemed to be having an argument amongst themselves over how far James should push it, Lily unimpressed with being treated with kid gloves.

Lily took a deep breath, raised her wand high, and then let rip. It looked as though she was throwing every piece of charm work she had at him to try to coax him into a reaction.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spotted a dark figure in the corner of the stands. Whoever it was had a large frame and was covered in a black cloak, covering his face. 

'Where's Winston?' Hermione whispered to Rabaston.

Rabaston shrugged, an evil little smile spreading across his face. 

Hermione huffed and watched the figure, whom she was sure was Winston, pull out his wand and swoosh it. He swiftly took a step back as a mist formed and began to creep around the arena, straight towards Lily. 

It took a beat for Lily to notice. Hastily, she threw up a shield and moved to the other side of the arena.

James stilled, watching carefully as the mist steered away from him and continued to creep towards Lily. He conjured up a small field mouse and threw it into the mist. It squealed as the mist hit it, sizzling and smoking until the mist burnt it away. An acid mist. 

Hermione felt Severus stiffen beside her. She gasped and placed a careful hand on Severus's leg, willing him not to do anything stupid. It would not do with either to make it clear their hearts were with Lily.  

James seemed to abandon all plans to continue duelling, coming to stand in front of Lily and protect her from the onslaught. They backed away together, James furiously shooting spell after spell at the mist.

Lily let out a little scream, and Hermione jumped up, her heart falling into her chest. It took a moment to see that Lily had disappeared entirely.

Hermione craned her neck, furiously searching the arena with her eyes until she finally let out a sigh of relief. 

Lily had accidentally fallen into a shallow cavern. She was wandless and shouting something about being pushed at a guilty-looking James.

It looked like James had officially beaten Lily, but neither of them was happy about it. 

 

........

 

A few hours later, James and Sirius came together for the final duel, and they did not hold back.

Hermione watched on with awe. Even the Slytherins around her had the good sense to be quiet and pay attention - for this was a spectacle worth watching. 

It was clear that James and Sirius had done this many times before. They were adept at anticipating each other's every move. It was hard to tell what spells they were each shooting; the other responded so quickly. 

Their stamina alone was impressive, with the duel lasting just over an hour. 

'How long have they been going at it now?' Parminda yawned beside Hermione. 

'You can't be bored by this,' Rabaston chastised. 'Annoyed that Black clearly isn't using everything in his arsenal, yes, but you can't deny their talent...' 

'How did the conversation with your brother go?' Titus asked Regulus, as they watched Sirius conjure up a wall from thin air, blocking James' attack.

Regulus folded his arms and tutted. 'It is as we suspected. He is a lost cause.' 

'Shame,' Rabaston sighed. 'What a waste of talent.' 

Hermione hummed along as if she was agreeing, whilst privately thinking the complete opposite. Sirius was a huge asset. For the right side. 

As the duel went on, magic that Hermione had no idea about came into play, delighting even Dumbledore himself. Sirius had bigger and bolder moves and showier set pieces, which wowed the crowd, but James was a machine.

For someone who usually lived his life leaning into lighthearted moments, seeing James' intensity and concentration was inspiring. He had grown up. 

Eventually, a simple tripping jinx disarmed Sirius, and James was declared victorious.

The two best friends embraced and collapsed in exhaustion, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house for the rest of the Potter family. 

The glint in Rabaston’s eye stopped Hermione in her tracks, though.

James had just become an extremely hot commodity. 

Chapter 32: I:XXVII

Notes:

Warning: mind the tags for this chapter (see end notes for details)

‘So what does James Potter want?’ Titus pressed Hermione a few days later, Regulus and Rabaston listening in intently. 

The fires were low in the Slytherin Common Room, and most of the students left for their dormitories for the night. As a precaution, Regulus cast silencing and notice-me-not charms, as was the practice with any conversations that might involve 'the cause'. 

‘A simple life,’ she answered, her tone pensive.

‘So he wants to be a peasant?’ Rabaston snorted. 

‘Of course not,’ Hermione chided, pausing to try and find the right words to explain. It was a fine line to tread here, to build trust with Slytherins without compromising the timeline. The truth could be vague, but it could still be useful. ‘He’s become comfortable with the trappings of wealth and never really suffered, but he is willing to for those he loves.'

'So they are the key?' Titus probed, leaning in and keeping his intense stare trained on Hermione.

Hermione nodded in agreement. 'James is ultimately driven by loyalty to his friends and his family. You won’t get James without his fellow Marauders and Lily. Long term, he wants a wife and family he loves, peace and security.’ 

‘So if his friends fall?’ Titus questioned. 

‘I’m not sure it’s that simple, Titus,’ Hermione continued. ‘He has to believe the world which the Dark Lord offers will give him, and his own, security and prosperity. The trouble is, the actions of this war and the casualties aren’t going to sit right with him.’

‘War has casualties. They are worth it if the outcome is a better world,’ Titus said firmly, his brow furrowing.

‘I know that,’ Hermione reassured him, ‘but I also think there is a line which must be drawn. For James, it’s more black and white; he would want assurances, particularly that the future will be safe for him.’

‘The Dark Lord is merciful,’ Titus offered, completely convinced that it was the case. 

Hermione paused again, scepticism written over her face. This was a dangerous conversation to have with fanatics. Still, she was known for her academic and moral flexibility, and use it to try and get her point of view across. 

‘Is he?’ Hermione challenged. ‘That’s not what the word being spread out there suggests.’

Titus' eyes grew dark and thunderous at the suggestion, his finger gripping tightly to his whiskey tumbler. 

Hermione leaned in and placed her hand softly on his arm, her eyes wide and pleading. ‘I’m not saying that’s right, Titus, I’m just saying it has to be seen to be believed. The world thinks Dumbledore is a harmless old man, but we’ve seen how he’s manipulated the Wizengamot and heard the tales of how he followed Grindelwald initially for the ‘Greater Good’ before he turned on him. If you’re going to convince someone as black and white as James that his worldview is incorrect, you’re going to have to shock him out of it.’

The Slytherins looked thoughtful at that. Clearly, they had some work to do.  

 

...................

 

The weeks that followed were filled with examination preparation, job fairs, and interviews for those who had not yet decided on their next steps.

It was particularly heartbreaking watching Remus ace these, knowing he would no longer be accepted when they found out his secret. 

Lily was accepted into Healer training at St Mungos, Marlene got an internship at the Daily Prophet, Amelia Bones got a placement in the Department of Mysteries, and James and Sirius passed their Auror exams with flying colours. 

Peter struggled to find his place without the Marauders to guide him, eventually accepting a position at a subsidiary of Malfoy Industries. 

‘Keep an eye on him,’ Hermione whispered to Remus one day while they worked on a Charms assignment, who raised his eyebrow at her suggestion. ‘It’s not easy being left behind, always in the shadow of much more successful friends. It’s easy to lose your way.’

‘He’s not going to be the only one,’ Remus grumbled.

‘No, he’s not,’ Hermione agreed, ‘but you have considerable talent and know how to use your connections. Which is why you're going to help me.’

‘With what?’ Remus asked quizzically. 

‘I’m going into the rare books and antiquities business,’ declared Hermione, who had found a use for the money she was making from her investments.

Remus's mouth fell open, and his body stilled. 

‘Keep your mouth shut, Remus, we are not codfish,' Hermione chastised.

Remus scoffed. 'You're doing what?' 

'It’s not such a crazy idea! You know how I feel about losing magical knowledge; I want to find everything I can. I’ve bought a shop at the edge of Diagon and it needs a rehaul.’

‘The edge of Diagon,’ he drawled skeptically. ‘Knockturn you mean?’ 

‘Well, yes,’ she conceded. ‘The area needs some regeneration, but it has such potential, Remus. The stock is fascinating, and I’ve already got a few experts on board to help source texts and pieces. Please just look at it and see what you think,’ she pleaded. 

He nodded with a sigh, ‘Fine. I’ll have a look. But no promises.’

 

..................

 

Titus sidled up to her late one evening in the common room.

The lights were low, the fire burning out, and they were completely alone.

Hermione's eyes were drooping as she fought her exhaustion. She'd been staring at her NEWTs revision for far too long. 

She eyed Titus up quizzically as he sat on the sofa next to her, closer than was usual for propriety, but still an arm's distance away. She tried to decifer the expression on his handsome face, but it was almost completely blank. Only the tension in his jaw and the intensity of his gaze gave away that this moment meant something.

Without saying a word, he placed a beautifully wrapped gift next to her, eyeing her significantly.

So this was it. 

Hermione took a deep breath, pausing to stare at the gift for a moment, and let her heartbeat slow as much as it could, given the significance. Slowly, reverantly, carefully, she unwrapped the ribbon, taking her time to open the box to reveal a Courting Comb within. 

It was a beautiful thing. Ornate filigree design, with smatterings of diamonds and pearls. Probably an heirloom which had been with the Notts for centuries. 

This comb meant everything. Her acceptance as a Pureblood Witch of note, value in this time and access to families at the heart of the cause. It was all she had been working towards. 

Yet, at that moment, she could only think about the real flesh and blood Wizard before her. Overwhelming emotions swam through her body, excitement, relief and the beginnings of desire warring with fear and guilt.

Hermione gulped and held her breath, her uncertain gaze raising to meet the resolve reflected in Titus’s eyes. 

‘I sent the Letter of Intent to Fleamont this morning,’ he said carefully. ‘Would you like to read it?’ 

‘Yes please,’ she agreed, curiosity getting the better of her. 

She took the letter and scrutinised its contents. It was all very well done, with a carefully crafted paragraph about the respect and admiration he had for Hermione having got to know her in the past few years, and his expectation that the match could be advantageous, and in time a happy one for them both.

It gave Hermione the moment she needed to steady her nerves and remember who she was, and what she was here to do. She must play this very carefully. Giving him hope, but not giving away too much, if she wished to retain the upper hand in negotiations and join the Nott family at exactly the right time for her mission to work. 

‘Happiness, Titus?’ She questioned lightly.

‘Why not?’ he replied, a resolved look on his handsome face. ‘It’s not everything, of course, but I think we could get there. Narcissa and Lucius haven’t done so badly.’ 

The confidence and certainty in his gaze gave her strength to continue. 

She gave him a small smile. ‘If I take this...’ she began.

‘If you take this?’ he interrupted with a small smile of his own.  

‘If I take this, you have to know, I’m not going to be like Narcissa. I will want some things that your average bride doesn’t expect.’

‘There are plenty of Narcissas out there,’ he reassured easily.

‘I’m not sure Lucius would agree…’ Hermione scoffed. 

‘There are.’ Titus argued firmly. ‘That wasn’t what I wanted. I want a powerful wife whom I respect.’ 

This was interesting. Hermione knew on paper that she was an attractive enough Witch, and that her ideas and interest in the cause had piqued Titus's interest. There were aspects of her character that could grate, and felt incompatible with Pureblood ideals, though. Despite her efforts to adapt, she was too bold and independent for most. Now was the opportunity to really understand what Titus would get out of this match. 

She raised her eyebrows skeptically. ‘What about your family?’

‘I’m a second son, I get a choice thankfully,’ he explained. ‘And I know mothers’ matter. I saw the consequences of that when my mother was locked up for years, leaving Tiberius alone. I want a strong wife to be the mother of my sons. What is most important is that we are on the same page and that you will support me when it matters.’ 

‘Well, we’ll have to see if we get on the same page then. I have a very good lawyer,’ Hermione promised with a bigger smile.

‘Of course you do,’ Titus offered, his eyes lighting up as he raised his eyebrow. 

‘And coming to an agreement won’t be easy,’ she continued.

‘I’m not expecting anything less,’ he beamed at her as she slowly picked up the comb to examine it more closely.

‘Okay then,’ she offered quietly. 

His eyes lit up then in triumph, his shoulders relaxing, and a smug, easy smile spread across his face. 

He placed his large, warm hand around hers. Hermione's body warmed at the contact, a blush forming on her face. No Wizard had touched her like this for years now, so simply and reverantly.

For a brief moment, the image of Sirius popped into her mind, his strong brow, sharp cheekbones and that intense glare of his that always made her shiver. Worse, the ghost of the buzz that shot down her spine when their breaths mingled, and the hurt in his eyes when he was disappointed in her. 

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and gave her body a little shake. There was no point going there. Sirius and everything you stood for were all a distant dream. This was her reality. 

This moment with Titus was different, but there was still something there. A connection, warmth and chemistry that couldn't be faked. At least, she could be confident that he affected her, which made the road she was going down so much easier.

Taking the comb from the box, Titus swept back the hair from the nape of her neck and placed it delicately in her hair.

Hermione couldn't help but shiver.

‘Perfect,’ he declared. 

 

.....................

 

Titus and Hermione kept their agreement reasonably on the down-low.

It hadn’t reached the wider population of Slytherin or beyond. Hermione wasn’t especially looking forward to her brother's reaction, or that of his friends. She felt vaguely nauseous when she thought about how Sirius might react. 

Somehow, though, it managed to reach the ears of her dorm mates. Hermione wasn't surprised. Narcissa had a way of finding out about every move the Sacred 28 made first. The following evening at bedtime, she and their dormmates had much to say.

‘He’s quite a catch,’ smiled Narcissa. 'I think you’ve got as good a chance as anyone at taming him. Whether he tames you is another matter…’

‘No chance!’ snorted Parminda. 

‘It’s very early days, ladies,’ Hermione emphasised. ‘I have no intention of getting ahead of myself.’

Pernilla's face could not betray her extreme jealousy. ‘What about Henrik?’ She spat. 

‘I didn’t accept his courtship, Pernilla,’ Hermione said dispassionately. 

But Pernilla could not be reasoned with.

A few weeks later, she felt the consequences of her wrath.

It was a sunny Thursday afternoon, and 7th Year Charms were taking their second written NEWTs exam in the Great Hall. 

Towards the end of the two hours, Hermione gulped down some water after finishing a particularly knotty problem and began to feel a heat blooming within her.

She loosened her collar and fanned herself. It didn’t help. Warmth continued to build within her body, making her feel dizzy and light-headed.

Hermione furiously scribbled to finish her final question, trying to ignore her growing discomfort. She squirmed in her seat, rubbing her wrists and ankles together to seek some friction, some relief. 

She caught herself staring at the nape of Amos Diggory's neck, thinking of the way his hair curled and how beautiful it looked. She watched, mesmerised, as his strong Adam's apple twitched when he swallowed...

She shook and forced herself to concentrate on something else, McLaggan’s strong hands, no, the curve of Parmindas’ breast…

Hermione shook herself more forcefully this time, casting her eyes down and breathing deeply. 

What was wrong with her? She was not attracted to any of these people; her thoughts were seriously intrusive.

When she risked another glance up, the worst happened. It landed directly on Sirius, lounging in his seat, staring out of the window, a bored look on his handsome face. Hermione let her gaze roam over the long, lean, muscular lines of his body, appreciating every part. Merlin, what would she do now to trace that perfect jaw with her fingers, and see the fire dancing in those icy silver eyes. 

Hermione gripped onto the desk, digging her nails in so far they sank into the soft wood. It took all her effort not to jump up from her desk, deposit herself on his lap and grind against his leg.  

When the bell for the end of the exam rang, it shook her out of her lucid dream. She shot up, staggering to get out and get fresh air as soon as she could.

In her rush to get out, she bumped into the solid form of Remus and could not help but take a deep breath, inhaling his scent.

The penny dropped. 

A furious heat pooled in her belly, trickling down her spine right to the apex of her thighs. Slow pants came out of her mouth, her vision blurring, and her legs feeling like jelly. 

She was aroused. How?

‘Hermione?’ Probed Remus, sounding disturbed.

Oh god, his wolf senses! He could smell her arousal.... she stared up at him, mouth hanging open, half horrified and half driven mad with lust. 

Staring into those amber eyes and watching them darken nearly broke her. Somewhere though in her rational mind, she was screaming. This was not right. This was not her. Someone had done this to her. 

She had to get a grip. 

‘I’ve been drugged. I need…’ she stuttered out.

She collapsed into him and had to stifle a moan. That delicious, intoxicating masculine smell that made her want to tear at his clothes, lick a stripe on his bare skin and taste his sweat. 

Remus grabbed onto her protectively and pulled her away from the crowd, motioning for Lily to join him.

‘I think she’s been hit with a powerful lust potion,’ Remus informed Lily, as they dragged Hermione out of the Great Hall. ‘We need to get her to the hospital wing. Now!’

A powerful wave hit Hermione again, making her shake with anticipation.

She had to have him, she had to have someone, right here, right now. 

‘I won’t make it. I need, I need to take the edge off,’ she begged Remus, clawing onto his shirt. 

‘In here!’ Remus demanded, grabbing her wand and throwing her into a nearby broom cupboard.

Swiftly, he transfigured a broom into a chair. Hermione barely registered as he forced her to sit, binding her legs and arms to it. The waves of lust were too strong now to protest.

‘Lily, run to get Madam Pomfrey, tell her it’s an emergency,’ Remus ordered. 'She needs to bring an antidote. I won’t be able to hold her off for long.’ 

Hermione lost hope as Remus slammed the door, warding her in.

She could just about move her arms, but her legs were bound tightly. That friction of the ropes against her skin scratched, but when she pulled them taught, another wave hit her. Something about being restricted made her blood sing, and breath catch in her throat. How was this making things worse?  

Whimpering in frustration, she tried to reach her wand, but it was no use. Finally, she tried a wandless spell to break her out.

As she did, another, more powerful wave of pure lust hit her. The ropes tightened, and she could do nothing but feel. 

She could hear the soft voices of panic outside and concentrated on the low timbre of male speech.

Hermione needed whoever was behind that door. Nothing would stop her. If she had to beg, she would do so. 

‘Please…’ she cried, her body shaking.

It was then she heard the low purr of his voice from the other side of the door. ‘Kitten…’

She whimpered softly in response. A shudder of satisfaction ran through her. That voice was everything. 

Closing her eyes, she drowned in the sensation. 

‘What do you need, Kitten?’ the voice of Sirius asked quietly, his voice rich like melted butter. ‘Use your words.’

The voice vibrated through her body. It was as if he were right here next to her, whispering in her ear. Hermione’s jaw dropped open as she swore she could feel the ghost of his breath on her neck.

It was muscle memory. It didn’t take much for her imagination to roar into life and bring to the forefront those memories of how it felt to have Sirius close to her, caging her in and pulling out feelings she would rather not face. Right now, though, nothing could stop her feeling them.  

‘I need to feel… I need you,’ she panted, unable to form the words needed.

She thought she heard a growl from the other side of the door. Had she ever made a Wizard make such a sound before? She didn’t think so. That growl, so raw and animalistic, spoke to the very essence of her. It made her feel as if she had been stripped down to her bones. 

Another wave of arousal hit her, even more powerfully. ‘Oh god, it’s getting worse! I need release.’

Hermione swore she could almost feel the heat of him coming through the door, his hot breath heavy. She heard the soft thud as he leaned his forehead on the door.

Was her memory playing tricks on her? It didn’t matter. The images playing behind her eyes, the feeling of heat engulfing her, and the heady masculine scent she had conjured from thin air were taking her higher. 

Fire began to lick its flames across her skin, making her burn feverishly. It danced over her arms, her chest, her stomach and crept up her legs, until it burst aflame on her core. The intensity of the sensation was blinding. 

‘That’s okay, kitten,’ he growled. ‘I’m going to take care of you.’ 

She whimpered again, more loudly this time. It was sheer relief. She would get what she wanted, what she needed more than anything in the world right now. And she would get it from him. 

She felt the sweat drip over her body, rubbing her slick thighs together. Her core felt like it was drowning. 

‘You're going to do exactly what I say,’ he instructed. ‘You’re going to take care of yourself until I can take care of you myself.’ 

Her free hand was already lazily stroking the sides of her body where she could reach, tugging at her clothing to loosen it and get better access to her burning skin.

Her hands clawed at her body roughly. They were too small, but she remembered. That feeling of Sirius grabbing her hips and the shots of electricity he sent through her. What she would do to have his hands on her now. 

‘When I get in there, I am going to devour you,’ he promised. ‘I’m going to taste every bit of your skin. Starting from your beautiful face. I want to bite down on those plump lips so badly.’

She collapsed further into the chair, her hand sneaking down her body, dipping inside her knickers. It was sweet, sweet relief.

‘I would do anything right now to be able to bury myself in your neck and inhale,’ he purred. ‘I want to suck that spot just below your ear that will make your knees buckle on me.’

Softly she panted, concentrating on his voice alone, and what he was doing to her. 

‘Are you touching yourself?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she moaned, pressing her fingers into her slick core and beginning to circle slowly.

‘Good girl.’

Her body responded with a new, heady flush of arousal.

Pressing her fingers more firmly, she chased that delicious feeling, stoking the fires until they burnt brightly. 

‘I can smell you,’ he told her. ‘You smell fucking divine. I want to bury my head between your legs and inhale.’

Hermione was lost. Nothing mattered but this moment, chasing this feeling that was building, building, climbing higher as his words washed over her. 

Her moans grew louder.

‘That sound, kitten,’ he commented, his voice breaking. ‘They will be the death of me. Do you know how hard I am right now?’

 

Her pace quickened and pressure mounted as she furiously circled herself, chasing sweet release.

‘You’re nearly there,’ he promised. ‘When I get in there, I’ll pin you down, watch you squirm until you can’t stand it anymore...'

Hermione could feel it. On the brink of a precipice, somehow higher than she’d ever been before, ready to fall.

'Then I’ll touch you, bury my head between your legs, and taste you…’

It was enough. Hermione crashed, falling deeper and deeper as she felt the monumental wave of pleasure wash over her again and again.

It was sweet, sweet release.

Time and space were suspended for one beautiful moment, leaving her seeing stars. The ringing in her ears dulled out all other sounds, as she drifted in temporary bliss.

It could not last, of course.

Reality hit her like a slap in the face. 

As she came too, she heard furious sounds from the other side of the door. ‘Too far, Padfoot!’ followed by a crash, and blinding light as the door blew off its hinges.

The small form of Madam Pomfrey burst in. The Healer tipped Hermione’s head back and forced-fed her a potion.

Presumably, it was an antidote. Sure enough, Hermione's dizziness began to subside, and the haze of lust around her seeped from her body, leaving behind only emptiness. 

Hermione began shaking violently as a blanket was placed around her, and she was helped to her feet.

Madam Pomfrey and Lily guided her out of the room slowly, casting a ‘Notice Me Not’ charm to hide her from prying eyes. 

Hermione's mind was almost completely empty, focused only on the coldness that remained and the sound of her heavy, laboured breaths. Shock was the only thing that propelled her forward. 

When they arrived at the Hospital Wing, Hermione collapsed into a nearby bed, gratefully taking the dreamless sleep she was offered, and promptly passed out.

Processing that mindfuck was a job for another day. 

Notes:

Warnings: contains smut (inappropriate use of lust potion)

Chapter 33: I:XXVIII

Sirius wasn't sure what he had been thinking. 

This, Remus, his only sensible friend, told him was a regular occurrence, and one which was the source of much exasperation for the young Werewolf. Sirius mostly shrugged when this was pointed out, for what way was there to act, but not on instinct? 

Not that he didn't understand that other people acted differently. He'd had a lifetime of watching his family and their stilted ways, and coming up short in their eyes against his stoic, controlled younger brother to contend with. 

But pushing back was not always a rebellion. It was an inherent part of the way he was. He couldn't tell anyone whether it was the result of years of being told what to do, and disliking what he heard, or if he was merely hard-wired to act this way.  

Mostly, he didn't let it affect him. After years of being controlled, he would apologise to no one for acting exactly how he pleased.

That was except on rare occasions where he hurt one of the very few people he cared about; namely, Moony, Wormtail and Prongs, and more recently the Potters. And Hermione was a Potter. Which meant he had to consider whether his instincts had led him seriously astray this time. 

There was no doubt that he had taken things too far. Something inside him had taken over that day, when Remus had asked him to guard that door. A dark, feral part of himself, pushing him to seize his desires. He wondered if this is how Remus felt when the moon was high, unable to stop himself from taking what he wanted. 

When he realised what state Hermione was in, and what she wanted, no, needed, he could have torn down that door and ripped it apart from its hinges. The beast inside him had roared, and he would have destroyed anything in his path to get to her.

Damn Remus and his watertight wards on that door. Or thank him. Would he really want her like that?

Merlin, no. He wanted her willing, compliant, and bending to his will by choice. Half mad with lust, yes, begging, pleading, even biting and attacking him like the wildcat she was, but not without explicit consent.

Bloody hell, what had he done?

He barely slept that night, his guilt haunting his dreams, mixed with lust, triumph and all-consuming obsession as he replayed those moments, the sweet, sweet sounds of Hermione begging, pleading, and coming undone. 

He was a mess when he woke up, but unfortunately, it could only get worse. 

Mid-morning, the night after the 'incident', Remus handed him a steaming cup of black coffee and gave him a sad sort of smile. There was an unspoken pact that they would not speak about what happened with Pete and James, probably because, like always, Remus didn't want any drama. And seducing James' sister like that would not go down well. 

So when a tired-looking James came out of the shower, barely giving them a grunt as he put on a new set of robes, he and Remus shared a significant look. It said, 'pretend everything is normal.' What else could Sirius do? 

'Did she wake up, Prongs?' Remus asked gently.

'Not yet,' James sighed, throwing on a jumper and sinking down on his bed. 'Just came back to grab a shower, and then I'm going back there.' 

Remus hummed. 'You need some rest. We can go back and make sure someone's with her when she wakes up.'

'Someone already is,' James croaked out, rubbing his eyes. 'Titus Bloody Nott.' 

Sirius's ears pricked up, his back straightening. 'What's that git doing there?' 

James fell back onto the bed in a show of theatrics. 'I think they might be courting...' 

A loud ring sang through Sirius's ears, getting louder and louder so the rest of the sounds around him were drowned out. 'I'm sorry, they are doing what?' 

'Courting. Maybe? I don't know. He asked me what I knew about what had happened, and I told him how quickly you'd spotted it, Remus, how you warded her into a cupboard to keep her safe from the effects, and he seemed really grateful, actually...' 

Remus snorted softly. 'Glad to hear I don't have an angry Slytherin to worry about.' 

Sirius shifted in his seat and gave an impatient growl. 'Get to the point, Prongs!'  

'Alright! He talked at me for about half an hour about the potential for our families coming together and getting on the same page. I was barely listening to be honest, I'm so bloody tired.' 

Sirius could feel the rage bubbling up inside him, the thunder gathering, ready to explode. 'She cannot... she would not... would she?' 

'Don't,' James groaned. 'I just need to focus on her waking up right now. Believe me, when she does, I want answers.' 

The tumble of emotions warring inside Sirius raged on, attacking each other so viciously that Sirius felt consumed by them. 

This was all too much. 

 

……

 

Hermione didn’t leave the hospital wing for three full days while the potion left her system.

When she woke, the sun was streaming down and James' worried face was there to greet her. 'What in Merlin's name happened?' 

Hermione groaned, coughing, reaching for the water beside her bed. James impatiently handed it to her, and she gratefully gulped it down.

After a moment, she gave him a hard stare. 'I made a mistake,' she said dully.

'You made a mistake?!' James roared, his eyes widening. 'Somebody tried to poison you, and you're the one who made a mistake?!' 

Hermione sighed. 'I underestimated them. There's no harm in admitting that.' 

'I knew you weren't safe with those snakes,' James whispered. 

'I'll be fine, James,' Hermione croaked out, throwing herself back on her bed and closing her eyes to stop the room spinning. 'Not all of them are bad...'

James snorted. 

'They're not,' Hermione insisted, her voice unnaturally light and airy. 'If Parminda had been there, instead of Lily and Remus, she would have done the same thing...' 

It was a lie, of course. Hermione wasn't sure just how far Parminda would go for her, or if any other snake would act without thought for their own advantage. James didn't need to know that, though. 

'They're not your real friends,' James grumbled, crossing his arms. 'They wouldn't throw themselves in harm's way for you, like Lily and Remus did...'

Hermione tried to ignore the loud beating of her heart at the omission of one name. James didn't know Sirius had been there, then. Given the circumstances, it was probably for the best. Not least because even thinking of his name made her head scramble. It was not useful right now to get dragged into the chaos of the feelings he’d dragged out of her.  

With great effort, she pushed her raging thoughts down and concentrated on her argument. 'And I'm really grateful for them, James. But Parminda, Regulus, even Severus - they are who I've chosen...' 

'And Titus?' James shot back.

Hermione gave him a questioning look. 

'I heard a rumour...'

'Go on...' 

'A rumour that Titus has made a move,' James shot back stubbornly. The hurt in his tone suggested he wasn't happy being the last to know. 

'He’s not making a move - our families are discussing a partnership,' Hermione replied, her tone unforgiving. 'It’s very early days.' 

'Do you even like him?'

Hermione huffed out a breath. Avoiding eye contact, she played with the lace hem of her hospital gown. 'Enough to start having more formal conversations? Yes, I do, actually.'  

'How romantic,' James huffed back sarcastically. 

'Hermione crossed her arms again. She was nothing if not stubborn. 'Isn’t that how it’s always been done?' 

'It doesn’t have to be!' 

'We can’t all have a love story for the ages, James! Lily's wonderful, and of course, as a Muggleborn, she will do things differently. But I want to do things like a Potter.' 

James let out a sigh of submission. 'Fine,' he huffed out, crossing his eyes and giving her a soulful look. The grumpy expression didn't stay on his face for long, though. Slowly, a smile curved on his face. 'Lily is wonderful, isn't she?'

Hermione couldn't help but smile back. 'Yes, she is. She’s my new favourite.'

'Well, she's always been mine. I'm glad she was there to save you. And Remus...' 

'They're good people, James,' Hermione said softly.

'That's all I want for you, you know. Good people around you.'

'I know, James. But you don't have to worry about me.' 

'Hey, I've cheered up, haven't I? Wait until you see Sirius. He's the one who is really brooding,' James said darkly.

Hermione's heart beat a bit faster in her chest. The thought of what had happened the previous night was too enormous to consider. Those feelings Sirius had dragged out of her still burned within her. Lust potion or not, Sirius had got completely under her skin.

The thought that it had affected him, even in a small way, made her rigid with panic. This was not in the plan. If she faced up to what had happened, it could derail everything. 

She took a deep breath and steeled herself for nonchalance. 

'Sirius is always brooding,' she scoffed. 

‘Well, he's got a point, doesn't he?’ 

Hermione thought he probably did. Exactly what he was brooding about was always the question. Was it that those vicious snakes she called allies had lashed out, and tried to ruin her? Was it that she was considering connecting herself to one of them in the most permanent way possible? Or was it what had happened in that broom cupboard and that he’d not managed to get in and finish the job?

To have oneself proved right was a bittersweet feeling. Lust potions were the most dangerous thing in the world.

Had she taken it seriously enough all those years ago when Ron had been drugged? She remembered being angry, but the rage she felt now, having experienced it herself, was all-consuming.

To be that out of control was frankly terrifying. She was so, so lucky Remus and Lily had been there.  

And Sirius… had he helped her or made things worse? At the time, she had been so grateful, so lost, and the feelings he’d pulled out of her were beyond anything she’d ever felt before.

But now, it had left her with a storm raging inside of her.

Up until this point, she managed to keep him at arm's length. She’s known she was attracted to him, but with those looks, what Witch wouldn’t be? There was obviously something behind their near-constant bickering, considering how it had shifted in the Potter Library, but she thought she could manage that - ignore, deny, deflect. 

Hermione admired his brilliance, his bravery and how he came full force at the world, no matter what it threw back at him. Yes, he was flawed, vicious and impulsive, especially at this age when he didn’t fully know himself. The problem was, she knew who he was deep down, that complexity, his fight for goodness, despite how he had suffered.  

If she had any choice in this life, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from being drawn to him.

But letting this play on her mind, whether it be the power of the lust he’d drawn from her or the depth of her admiration, was not helpful to who she was now. She could not examine this. Too many lives were at stake.

When her feelings got so complicated, there was only one thing to do. Lock them up. So she squashed down her feelings, deep, deep within her, in a box locked so tight, no one could ever reach it.

It was all the potion, she told herself. You weren’t in your right mind; you didn’t have a choice. Nothing about that day was real.

She would not think of it. She must not think of it.

There was only one thing to do.

Retreat. Retreat. Fall back, or she would be lost. 

 

...........

 

Hermione left the hospital wing a few days later with a renewed sense of purpose: lock down her Occlumency wards and remember to treat her allies like the people they were: a threat.

Pernilla's poisoning was a stark reminder to her of just how careful she needed to be around her Slytherin 'friends'. She’d known Pernilla was a threat, but still left her drink exposed around her. If Pernilla had succeeded, Hermione's reputation would be in tatters, and her plan ruined. 

Her first task was to find out what had happened. Whispers came to her through her allies. At least she knew they were good for information, she thought wryly.  

Severus informed her that Pernilla hadn't been at all subtle about her involvement. Parminda had seen her touching the offending glass of water before the exam started, and her sly, knowing look on seeing Hermione bolt out of the room had given her away. She didn’t develop the potion, though. That honour went to the young Dolohov, a potions prodigy who was creating more and more creative and powerful mixes in anticipation of his entry into the war. His uncle may already be schooling him on the ways of rape and control. Hermione vowed to get her revenge - but she also knew she had far too many important things to focus on. 

It was Narcissa who was the most helpful.

'How are you, dear?' she asked, placing some beautiful Gerbera Daisies and Roses on her nightstand. 

'Improving,' Hermione sighed. 'Starting to get restless about being confined to the hospital wing and now the Dungeons, to be honest.' 

Narcissa hummed. 'I'm not surprised. I can't see you being very good at relaxing. But I'm not sure you want to see what's going on out there...' 

'Oh?' 

'I'm sure you've heard Titus has not been happy...' 

'Yes, Regulus informed me that the Common Room may need some redecoration...' 

Regulus had come to the hospital wing to tell her that when Titus discovered the reason for Hermione’s absence, his wrath was a thing to behold. An old tapestry and several chairs in the Slytherin Common Room didn’t make it, not to mention Dolohov’s ear.

'Quite. That tapestry was almost 600 years old, and a gift from the Blacks,' Narcissa tutted.  'I'm afraid your fiancée has a temper.' 

Hermione pursed her lip and clicked her tongue, speaking her next words carefully to avoid letting her own anger out. 'I can't say I'm too upset about that, as long as it's directed in the right direction, of course.' 

Narcissa arched her brow. 'You mean Pernilla, I presume?'

'There's no doubting she is responsible, is there?

'No, she is entirely responsible.' 

'What she could have done, Narcissa, is unthinkable. I can handle any hex or slurs she throws at me, but I will not tolerate such a vicious act. A Pureblood Witch should never have her reputation compromised in that way!' 

Narcissa placed a gentle hand on her arm, her eyes softening when she answered. 'I know. I am on your side in this. She went too far, and it's not to be tolerated. I can't deny it has changed how I think of her somewhat.' 

'There's a but, isn't there?'

Narcissa sighed. 'I have known her for a long time. I know what she is and all her flaws. But she has been a loyal friend to me over the years, so I don't want her punished more than is necessary.' 

Hermione leaned back and folded her arms. She could see what was going on here. Pernilla was obviously worried about Hermione's reaction and had sent Narcissa to appeal to her. 

'And what do you think is necessary?' 

'Titus has written directly to Winston's father about having a Witch who would compromise alliances in the family. Her and Winston's marriage contract is now under threat.'  

Hermione snorted. 'Isn’t that exactly what she wants?' 

Narcissa carefully smoothed down her robes, avoiding eye contact. 'There will be consequences for Pernilla if the contract doesn't go through. I'm sure I do not have to spell it out. Even if the match is not ideal, the alternative is far, far worse. I would not wish that fate on anyone.' 

Hermione nodded slowly. Frustration boiled within her, making her breath come out in short, sharp pants. 

Yes, she craved revenge on Pernilla. She would love nothing more than to whip out her wand and hex the smile off the bitch. If her world burned because of this, right now Hermione thought she might dance on the ashes.  

But she also didn't want to do anything that might directly or indirectly harm a Witch. There would be enough times in this mission when that would be the case; she didn't need one more to add to her list of morality crimes. 

'You want my reassurances that I won't seek my revenge?' 

Narcissa gave her a sad little smile. 'That's entirely up to you. I would just appreciate it if you didn't.'

Well, that did it. If Narcissa was asking her a favour, she would have to fulfil it, no matter how frustrating. Pragmatism had to win. 

Hermione gave a big sigh. 'I suppose I could do that.' 

Narcissa beamed at her. 'Titus doesn't blame you at all, you know. At least you can be grateful for that.'

'I know,' Hermione huffed. 'He's been nothing but attentive.'

Hermione had breathed a huge sigh of relief when she'd first seen Titus. She could see a concern in his eyes that told her everything she needed to know. He was angry for her, not with her. 

The only thing he wanted from her was details of the attack and who they were in debt to.  Hermione told him of the quick thinking of Remus Lupin and Lily Evans in saving her honour. She did not mention Sirius’s role, of course. That would stay locked in a very dark corner of her mind forever. 

'As he should be. You've acted perfectly dear, and everyone will know that.' 

Hermione let out a long, low breath. It didn't matter what had actually happened. All that mattered was the narrative afterwards. 

 

...............

 

‘You look better,’ Titus said in a low voice, taking her hand and giving it a chaste kiss. 

It was about a week after the incident, and they were sitting by the fire in the Slytherin Common Room, alone for once. Hermione was finally starting to feel like herself again.

There was a twinkle in her eye when she replied. ‘ Well, I am well looked after, aren’t I? I feel like you would have me carried around in a box if I so desired it…’ Titus had been following her around like a protective shadow for the last few weeks.

Titus smirked at her. ‘It can be arranged.’

‘Good to know. I’ll stick to walking for now if that’s all the same with you.’

‘Whatever the lady wants...' Titus shrugged, tracing his finger over her hand lightly.

Hermione took a moment to enjoy the tingling sensation over her skin at such a simple touch. 

After a beat, Titus continued. 'I’ve been thinking…’

Hermione merely raised her brow, indicating he should continue. 

Titus gave her a steady look when he continued. ‘About those who helped you. Remus Lupin and Lily Evans. That is the type of loyalty money can’t buy…’

Hermione hummed gently. ‘It comes with a territory of having a Gryffindor brother and getting to know his friends.’

Titus raised a brow. ‘There have to be benefits to your relations, I suppose... But I don’t think I’d understood just how valuable they might be. That kind of quick thinking and doing what needs to be done is an asset.’ 

‘It is… and you’re thinking about how to use that, aren’t you?’

‘You know me so well…’

'So what are you thinking?' 

'That I should pay my debt, but help the cause at the same time. I have one thing to offer that I know would give them a better life.' 

Hermione hummed, knowing exactly what he meant. Titus genuinely believed joining the Dark Lord would help Remus and Lily, no matter how foolish that thought might be in reality. As a good fiancée, all she could do was support him. 'Well, you should talk to them about that, then.'  

For weeks afterwards, Titus schmoozed them both, showing appreciation for their talents and loyalty, letting them into some of the secrets of Nott family magic, and offering to show them some of the old ways at Mabon. 

Remus gave very little away, but Hermione could see that Lily didn’t know quite what to make of it. On the one hand, the ancient books that Titus had lent her about blood debts, transferral of energies, and sacrificial magic, were fascinating and could help with her healing mastery, but on the other, why would she want to suddenly start conspiring with people who had hated her for years for nothing more than her blood? How could they call her a Mudblood one day, and respect her the next? 

The final act of this campaign to butter them up involved inviting Lily, Remus and James to the Mabon ritual.   

Hermione found herself trailing behind them and the rest of the Slytherins on a trek through the forest. The evening was warm, and the sky clear, but as soon as they reached the clearing, Hermione had a dark sense of foreboding. 

Hermione had urged Rabaston to tone it down a bit, but when she saw the sacrificial offering was a baby lamb and the look of horror on Lily's face, she knew that the evening was a lost cause. 

‘We’ll eat him afterwards, Lils,’ Hermione promised. ‘His sacrifice doesn’t go to waste.’ 

‘Well, I certainly won’t!’ tutted Lily, a lifelong vegetarian. 

Hermione sighed. This was going to be a shitshow. 

The ritual went off smoothly at first, with Hermione leading the way, painting runes of rebirth, fertility, and protection for all attendees, except for Lily, who watched in stony silence.

When the reins were handed to Rabaston, things began to go awry. 

He called to the spirits to protect the old ways, a rebirth of powerful, ancient magic and freedom to practise all the arts that nature offers them. The chanting and spells he invoked brought powerful energy to the circle, humming loudly and finally exploding around the nearby forest, scaring away birds who tried to fly away but fell back down to the earth.

James picked up a stick and prodded a nearby bird, which was clearly dead.

‘We didn’t come here to practise the Dark Arts, Lestrange,’ he said firmly.

‘It’s just a bird, Potter,’ Rabaston replied dismissively. ‘You are its natural master…’

‘That’s no excuse,’ James chided in a commanding tone. ‘There’s a reason the Dark Arts are restricted.’

‘Fear is the reason!’ Rabaston roared, pleading with him to see sense. ‘Fear of what you don’t understand! It is our heritage. The Dark Lord only wants to bring back stronger magic to these lands. We have been restricted far too long by our obsession with Muggles. You and your Witch have so much more potential…’

‘And what are the consequences of this?’ James demanded. ‘What will it do to our families, our morals, our souls? It has twisted you, and it will twist everyone it touches. Can’t you see how the darkness will seep into you? How can you see death as anything but abhorrent?’

‘Sacrifices always have to be made for progress, Potter,’ Rabaston replied, folding his arms.

‘Progress for who?’ Lily butted in.

Severus intervened then, trying to calm and reassure her. ‘You are a very powerful Witch, Lily. The Dark Lord does not deny that. He would reward it.’ 

‘And what of those who are less powerful?’ Lily questioned, growing angrier and angrier. 

‘Magic is a calling, Lily,’ Severus tried to explain. ‘It is limitless for those who are worthy. There are always some who are not, it’s the way of the world.’

'I don’t accept this way, then,’ Lily said firmly. ‘I could never accept a world which preys on the weak, and disregards their pain.’ 

Severus grimaced sadly. 

James spoke in a low, serious voice. ‘This way won’t lead to your happiness, gentleman, or anyone else’s, for that matter. This Dark Lord of yours revels in chaos, in darkness. It will engulf you all eventually. You can tell him, we’re not interested.’ 

‘You’re naive, Potter,’ Rabaston jumped in. ‘There is a greater good - maybe ask your friend Dumbledore about that one, after all, he came up with it.’ 

James looked sharply at him, ‘I’d rather be naive than have my soul twisted by darkness.’

‘Have it your way. See you on the battlefield, Potter,’ Rabaston spat, menacingly.

With that promise, James tutted and turned on his heel, Remus and Lily following behind him. 

 

...................

 

Remus sank by the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room next to Sirius, pulling his head into his hands and closing his eyes tightly.

'Fun night?' Sirius said wryly, putting down the newspaper he'd been reading. He wasn't sure he'd seen Remus look this exhausted outside of a full moon. 

'It was what we expected,' Remus said dully. 'Lots of nonsense about 'taking back our heritage' and a dark ritual. Some birds didn't make it. James and Lily aren't happy.'  

Sirius's eyes narrowed, and he let out a little huff of air. 'I could have told you that.' 

'We have information for Dumbledore. That's what he wanted. We know when they are meeting and how they are trying to recruit people. Maybe even who might be on the other side...'

Frustration bubbled in Sirius's chest. Last month, Dumbledore had called them all into his office and told them about the Order. It had lit a fire underneath them - finally, a chance to do something real to stop this ridiculous war. But every day they weren't out there felt like a waste to Sirius. The headlines, the injuries and worse drove him to distraction - for he knew who was behind it. His family. Or people like them who had bought into the cult of a madman. He was amazed that Remus seemed to be able to concentrate on exams when there was something far more pressing.   

'I want to do more than pass on information, Moony. There's a war going on out there, and it feels like we're doing nothing.' 

'We've only got a few months, then we'll be more than busy with the Order by the sounds of it.' 

'Fighting against Titus Bloody Nott, instead of socialising with him,' Sirius said bitterly, picking up a newspaper, ripping and screwing up the pages and throwing them into the fire. 'Was he there?'

Remus looked up, his eyes wide and soulful. He nodded. 'Didn't say much, though.' 

'He didn't have to. I've been to enough pureblood events to know his Father and Brother will have taken to the Dark Mark already. He'll be next.' 

'Maybe,' Remus conceded. 'But it was Lestrange who was driving things. He's the one with the cruelty for it.' 

Sirius hummed. 'Was she there?'

There was no doubt who ‘she’ was referring to. It could only be Hermione. When he wasn't obsessing about the war and itching to get out and do something, his thoughts always strayed to her. 

The news that Titus Nott had sent Fleamont Potter a Letter of Intention, and worse, Hermione had agreed to pursue it, had sent shockwaves of anger through Sirius's body. The complicated feelings he had after the broom cupboard incident were bad enough; this added a whole other level of messed up.

Knowing that James' sister was considering a partnership with a Dark Family had his stomach in knots. He couldn't conceive how anyone in their right mind would even consider it. Least of all, her.

Not when there was clearly something brewing between them, something so undeniable to him that he could barely think when she was around. 

'We knew she would be,' Remus said softly. 'She didn't look happy with them, either.' 

'She's still going to follow them, though, isn't she? Potentially court one of them...' 

Remus rubbed his temple. 'I don't know, Sirius. She says it's early days...'

Sirius scoffed, his eyes brimming with hurt. James had said something similar. It didn’t really matter either way – she was still considering it, and if she was then she was as bad as the rest of them - wasn't she?

'What happened in that broom cupboard...' Remus started.

Sirius closed his eyes, rubbing his chest lightly with his hand. 'We're not talking about that, Moony. Ever.'  

Sirius meant what he said. Outside of that broom cupboard, egging Hermione on into pleasure, he'd been driven only by instinct. He couldn't help giving her what she needed in that moment. Damn the consequences. 

Today, though, in the cold light of day, it seemed very different. There was no denying the stark facts of it when they were laid bare. Hermione was still who she was, and Sirius would never change. 

The flame of his anger had long since burnt out - now, he only felt a dull ache in his chest and numbness spread through his bones. There was nothing he could do. One way or another, he needed to get that Witch out of his head.

'She's James' sister,' Remus whispered. 'Can we just try to give her the benefit of the doubt until she gives us a real reason not to? Or at least try to keep it friendly?' 

'I don't know if I can do that,' Sirius whispered. Sirius had never understood how people could keep their feelings to themselves. His emotions were so big and all-consuming at the best of times - keeping them locked away felt like too much.

He could do it if he put his mind to it, of course. He wasn't a naturally gifted Occulems, but his family had insisted on years of training to get him up to a satisfactory level. Being in control of emotions was essential to being a good Black heir.

But he just didn't want to. His stubbornness rose against the idea of being light or friendly with her now. If she was siding with the Dark Bloody Lord, she didn't deserve it. 

Remus hummed. It took him a beat, but when he spoke, it was in a low, certain tone. 'There aren't many people whom I trust, Pads. For good reason - obviously. I don't think just anyone would react the way you, James, Pete and now Lily did when you found out who I was. I don't think there are many people who would have done what you've done. You're done more than help, you've lifted me up, made me feel like a real person.'

'Moony, anyone...' 

'No, Pads, not anyone. That's the point. And she's one of them. She knew for months what I am without saying anything, covered up our tracks, and when it was out in the open, all she did was help. She healed me, Pads. She's healed us both - remember?' 

Sirius's numbness disappeared in a second. His emotions raged with him, overflowing, making it impossible to speak. They were such a jumble it was impossible to work out how he really felt. Was it wrath, indignation, lust, affection or something deeper that he couldn’t possibly face? 

When he finally spoke, his voice was smaller somehow. 'How can that all be true, and yet she's following them?' 

'I don't know, Pads. But I do know she wouldn't betray us. And I think you should give her a chance. Or at least keep it civil?'

Sirius was about to snap back, but the look in Moony’s eyes stopped him. Those puppy dog eyes were pleading with him. Remus hardly asked for anything, and when he did, Sirius found it hard to resist. After all, Remus, Peter, and James were now his family.

If this meant that much to him and James, could he try? He had the skill, if he put his mind to it. After all, he'd learnt to be an Occlumens by storing away his anger to his family. Could he really put on an act with her? Treat her like any other relative and keep his distance?

Sirius took in a deep breath, taking a moment to let all the rage leave his body. After a moment, he let out a long-suffering sigh. 'I’ll try, but no promises.’

Remus gave him a soft smile that almost made it feel a bit lighter. ‘It’s all anyone can ever ask, Sirius.’

‘Why do you have to be so wise? I swear you're an old man trapped in a teenager's body sometimes...'

'Well, somebody has to be,' Remus deadpanned, giving him a shit-eating grin. 

Sirius grinned back, ignoring the current of emotions swimming under the surface. They would remain dormant. They had to.

Chapter 34: I:XXIX

The exams went as smoothly as they could, with Hermione surprisingly a lot less stressed than many of her fellow 7th years.

She had more important things to concentrate on.

Hermione started by taking better control of her mind. She renewed her interest in mediation, taking any opportunity to join Parminda on the roof and clear her thoughts. She told herself it was to protect herself from her allies and from what was coming.

It was sheer denial. What had happened with Sirius had shaken her down to the core. It must not happen again.

‘Why are you occluding so much anyway?’ Parminda asked at sundown when they had both finished meditating for the day. ‘Do you need to practice taking your reaction to Titus’s tiny…’

Hermione let out a little squeak and held out her finger to Parmida’s mouth ‘Stop!’ she demanded with a laugh, as she slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence…’

Parminda swotted away her hand and let out a cackle. ‘I’m only joking. Word on the street is he’s above average. And there are lots of words about it to go around…’

Hermione groaned as she held open the door to the rooftop and let Parminda wander down the stairs first. ‘Merlin, I don’t want to know!’

‘Oh, Hermione, it’s not the 50s anymore. We can experiment and get away with it,’ Parminda said nonchalantly as they meandered down the stairs towards the dungeons.

Hermione arched her brow at that.

As they made their way through the Slytherin Common Room, she silently contemplated what Parminda was saying. Pureblood witches were certainly more open than she’d expected, but no one really talked about intimacy, or how far it was acceptable to go. She kicked herself for not questioning Draco about it more, beyond a few tidbits about the expectation of virginity for the most traditional families. 

It made sense that bending of the rules happened, but she suspected it all happened very discreetly. As long as one appeared to be the purest of the pure, most Sacred 28 families would turn a blind eye. After all, it was blood and influence that mattered.

Perhaps she should try to work it out, given how often she felt naive about that sort of thing. War had given her so little time and energy to focus on something that felt relatively unimportant in comparison to survival.

If she had known more, perhaps she wouldn't have got herself into quite such a mess with Sirius. 

For now, though, she would ignore, deny and deflect. ‘I’m much too busy for that sort of thing. Exams have only just finished!’

Parminda snorted, holding the door to their dormitory open for Hermione. ‘But what comes after? That’s what really matters, isn’t it?’

‘Exactly,’ Narcissa agreed as they entered the room, catching the tail end of their conversation. ‘And I personally can’t wait for what’s coming next.’

The Slytherin girls’ dormitory was a welcome respite from the chaos of NEWTs. Success to Narcissa, Pernilla and Parminder was a good marriage - exams hardly mattered.

Hermione gave her an indulgent smile. ‘Well, I can’t deny it’s going to be exciting.’  

‘I can’t believe you're going to be employed,’ sneered Pernilla, as if it were some sort of disease. 

Hermione stilled, shooting her laser-sharp, unforgiving gaze at Pernilla. Since the poisoning (what else could she call it?) Pernilla had held her head down low, avoiding all eye contact with Hermione, only mumbling when spoken to. This was the first time Hermione had been sniped at, as if nothing had changed.  

Narcissa huffed. ‘Working with the Minister isn’t something to be sniffed at.'

Narcissa was a canny Witch. Hermione knew her ally was very sensible of the advantages of her position and how she might get the most out of it.

Hermione smiled like the cat who got the cream, keeping eye contact with Pernilla and daring her to disagree.

Pernilla did not. Her gaze lowered first and she gave a little huff. She obviously didn't dare contradict her oldest and most influential friend too much.

'I'm a very lucky Witch,' Hermione offered magnanimously. 

'Titus has been telling everyone he's a very lucky Wizard,' Narcissa said indulgently. 

Parminda smirked. 'He shot Winston down yesterday when he snided at your new position, Hermione. Said he was proud, and he was courting you for a good reason.' 

Hermione couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. She had felt her status grow with Slytherin when news of her new appointment broke, but to know Titus had her back was the best news of all. He was proving to be a very useful fiancé. 

'As he should do,' Narcissa said indulgently. 'Anyone who is anyone in Slytherin knows it was a canny manoeuvre. They'd be foolish to underestimate you.' 

Pernilla looked like she was biting her tongue hard to stop herself from lashing out, but Hermione could also see the way her shoulders were slumped. She had been outmanoeuvred. 

Despite the horror of the last couple of weeks, Hermione had come out stronger.

........

 

The following Sunday, the sun was high in the sky, and most students were cramming for last-minute exams on the lawns, taking advantage of the warm weather. Hermione, though, couldn’t resist a day in the library, even though her exams were drawing to an end.  

Severus and Regulus joined her, and without much studying to do, they soon turned to whispered conversations. The main topic was Hermione’s new role, and they discussed at length what it meant for Hermione, them, and the cause. When that topic was exhausted, they moved to planning their summer activities.

'It will be good to get a couple of months off before I start at the Ministry. I have a lot of experimental projects I'd like to get off the ground,' Hermione whispered. 

'Of course you do,' Severus replied. 'Are you plotting to brew some dastardly revenge for Pernilla?' 

'Hardly,' Hermione snorted. 'I've got some plans to break out our family Pensieve down and see if I can replicate it into a cheaper, more portable option. Keeping memories alive is just so important. With that, brushing up on Parseltongue and other Darker magic we can't practice here, I think I'll be very busy.'

'Aaaahh,' said Severus knowingly. 'You're playing the long game with Pernilla, then.'

Hermione gave a light laugh. 'It would have to be a very long game. Narcissa has made it very clear that she'd like me to let that one go - and I'm not silly enough to go against her wishes. But ask me again in three years or so...' 

Regulus tutted. 'Responding is beneath you. You're much better off concentrating on what matters. I just wish I were able to experiment more at Grimmauld Place...'

'I'd invite you over to Potter Manor - there's a big outhouse I'm planning to use, but unfortunately, there is always the danger of bumping into Gryffindors there.' 

Regulus gave an exaggerated shudder. 

'Is your Mother not supportive of that sort of thing?' Hermione probed carefully. She worried about Regulus and Severus's lives at home and the threat of abuse.

‘I assure you - that's not a problem. It's more space that's the issue. I don’t know what horror stories you’ve heard from my wayward brother while you’ve been at Potter Manor, but Mother has never been a problem for me,’ Regulus said almost defensively.

Hermione didn’t doubt it. Regulus was much better than Sirius at toeing the line and appearing to be aligned with his mother's worst impulses.‘I’m not at all surprised. It sounds like your Mother, and you are aligned on all the things that matter.'

‘Is she aligned with the idea of a Charm’s mastery?’ Severus cut in slyly. 

Hermione raised her brows and watched as Regulus’s nostrils flared at the suggestion. All these Slytherins really did know how to hit each other where it hurt.

She was suspicious that Regulus’s heart didn’t seem to be quite so into the cause as when she had first met him. It was a small, almost imperceptible change, but she was sure his passion for it was slowly fading. So Hermione went for a gentle tone as she butt in. ‘You would do so well in Mastery, Reg. I hear there are many excellent programmes in Eastern Europe.’

‘It depends on what the Blacks have in store for me,’ Regulus replied to Hermione’s suggestion, clearly not willing to personally commit. ‘And the Dark Lord, of course,’ he added almost as an afterthought.

‘A mastery would be a great advantage no matter what the goals are, Reg,’ Hermione persisted. ‘It’s not a rebellion if you are doing right by your family in the long term, even if they don’t agree with the method.’

She was beginning to see how Regulus might eventually turn in his beliefs.

Their conversation was interrupted as they saw Professor Slughorn ambling towards them, his eyes intent on Hermione. 'Lovely to see you all still studying so hard! And well into the evening! Discussing your bright future, I suppose?'

Regulus gave him a smooth smile. 'That's right. We're all expecting Hermione to shine.'

'And your time will come next year, Regulus!' Professor Slughorn said jovially. 'But in the meantime, Miss Potter, you have been singled out by the Headmaster. I believe he wants a word if you have some time this evening?' 

Regulus raised his brow almost imperceptibly, and Hermione furrowed her brow, giving him a look which said she was as suspicious as he was. 

'Of course,' she said lightly. 'I'll come right away. I'll see you back in the common room?'

Regulus and Severus both gave a stiff nod.

Hermione sighed as she followed Professor Slughorn out of the library, wishing Dumbledore had been more discreet. Still, she thought it would be easy enough to come up with an excuse.  

When she arrived, Dumbledore pottered around his office, making inane small talk and pouring tea, before diving into the purpose of their chat. 

‘Miss Potter, I have done as you asked two years ago, and left you completely alone,’ he began, his tone slow and deliberate. ‘I must know how you fare, though. I understand there is still some way to go, but it appears you have been sowing some seeds...’

‘I have,’ she agreed, ‘but you know I cannot tell you any more.’

Dumbledore gave a small sigh, holding Hermione's gaze as if he wished to draw her secrets from it. ‘It appears you will be playing a dangerous game,’ Dumbledore commented lightly.

‘I am aware,’ Hermione said darkly, leaning back on her chair, not giving an inch.

They stared at each other for a moment longer before Dumbledore decided to change tack. ‘I presume you must know about the Order?’ he enquired, stirring his tea gently. 

Hermione gave a small nod.

‘Can they assist you in this?’ he asked. ‘You must know I intend to invite you to join.’

She sighed and placed her teacup down on the table. ‘I cannot join in any official capacity, I would be found out too easily. That is not to say there will not be times when I can offer intelligence. But it must be targeted, and it must be discreet. I will not be able to change the details of this war, Professor, only the outcome.’

Dumbledore pursed his lips and nodded, a stern expression on his face.

Hermione could see how frustrated he was, and she didn't blame him. There was little he could do about it either way. Perhaps, though, now was the time to alert him to some parts of her mission and give him enough to do to make sure he would stay out of her way. 

She pulled a D.A. coin out of her pocket and handed it to him, and cast her wand over it. 'This coin is a two-way communication device. We can use it to send each other short, urgent messages. I trust you won't need to use it often, but if you do, I will find a way to meet with you.' 

'Ingenious,' he whispered, taking the coin and trying to send a message.  He looked deeply uncomfortable with the lack of control. 'What does the D.A. stand for?'

Hermione smiled ruefully. 'Dumbledore's Army. I was a part of it once.'

Dumbledore's eyes widened. 'Please tell me I didn't command an army...'

'No, it was a school club, and an inside joke.' 

Dumbledore hummed, turning the coin in his hand. ‘What can I do, Miss Potter?’ he said, trying to hide his frustration in his tone. 

‘There will be a Prophecy,’ Hermione informed him. ‘As soon as you hear it, you must tell me the exact wording.’

‘Well, that’s not enough to keep me busy,’ he said with an exasperated smile.  

‘How about a little Horcrux hunting?’ She dropped in lightly, enjoying the fact that she was, in fact, dropping a bomb. 

His face hardened. It was such a delicious feeling to watch Dumbledore not be the most knowledgeable person in the room.

‘A Horcrux?’ he whispered hoarsely. 

‘Horcruxes,’ she clarified. ‘We need to find them, and we need to destroy them.’

‘How many?’ he asked gravely.

‘Eventually seven. Four or five now, I think.’

Dumbledore stood up and placed one hand on his hip, the other rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘Miss Potter, you must forgive me, but that sounds somewhat unbelievable..’ 

Hermione rounded on him. ‘You doubt the lengths Tom Riddle will go to?’

Dumbledore had the good sense to look ashamed.  

‘It’s fine, you can doubt me, you’ll see soon enough,’ she continued. ‘The hunt will not be easy. Whatever you do, don’t let your emotions blind you. Or try on any Cursed jewellery for that matter…’ 

Dumbledore looked more disturbed than she’d ever seen him. 

‘Also, I need to borrow Fawkes…’ 

Dumbledore gave her that look Hermione was getting used to. The one that said that he neither liked nor trusted her, and he wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or impressed with being out-smarted. Still, he did her bidding.

They talked for a good hour after that, discussing plans and tactics; Dumbledore pushed for details, while Hermione evaded. When Hermione was satisfied, she had all she needed from her old Headmaster; she made her excuses and headed back to her life as Hermione Potter.  

Titus was waiting for her when she returned to the common room. Regulus and Severus had obviously informed him of her summoning, and he would expect a full briefing. 

‘What did Dumbledore want then?’ Titus probed lightly, pouring her a herbal tea. 

‘What do you think?’ Hermione shot back, sarcasm dripping from her voice. ‘To recruit me, of course.’

‘And what did he promise you, Cariad?’ Titus continued. 

‘Eternal glory and a pat on the back, of course. I gave him a counteroffer,’ she smirked, sipping her tea and giving a satisfied hum.

‘You did?’ Titus asked, a smile forming on his face. 

‘I would join on several conditions,’ Hermione replied with a smile of her own. ‘I can’t remember them all, but I think they included a complete reversal on the ban on Dark Magic, restoration of its teaching at Hogwarts, return to ritual celebrations, compulsory Wizarding classes for Muggle-borns, five seats on the Wizengamot, my face on a chocolate frog card and an editorial in Witch Weekly.’   

Titus' laughter bellowed across the room. ‘I would have paid to see the look on his face.’

‘Get me pensive, and I’ll show you,’ Hermione promised, sipping on the Firewhiskey Titus offered her. 

‘Alas, the Notts have never owned one. It’s a shame - there are a few memories I’d like to watch back,’ he said, stroking her arm, and leaning in to give her a ghost of a kiss on her neck. 

Hermione shivered. She couldn't deny that his proximity had an effect on her. 

Titus continued in a low tone. ‘Blasting our enemies with Dark Curses, at that Merlin-forsaken duelling contest, was one of the hottest things I've ever seen…’

 

............

 

The atmosphere in the castle lightened considerably after the exams finished. Students visibly relaxed, breathing easier and vowing to make the most of their final days in the sun. 

The fact that outside Hogwarts' walls, war was raging made everyone even more determined to enjoy themselves. Students lounged across lawns during the day, laughing, swimming and playing impromptu Quidditch. At night, twinkling lights would appear, music cascading through the air as they danced, drank and sang.

Hermione wondered idly, as she stepped over another drunken couple making out in the hallway, if this was what the last days in Berlin were like before the fall to the Nazis. The last days of summer. 

It was tempting to indulge. What harm could one last taste of delicious freedom do?

But Hermione did not. She knew the storm that was coming. The sounds of wars might have dulled for her, but her body still remembered their impact.

She couldn't afford to lose focus now.

There was one final mission before she left Hogwarts. She needed some Basilisk Fangs. 

It wasn't a task she relished, having heard Harry's horror stories long ago. Perhaps, she had been putting it off for too long, caught in indecision on who could help her. For she knew, she could not do it alone. 

Dumbledore was the obvious choice, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to seek his help any more than was necessary. There was no one else within the staff with whom she had a strong enough bond, and she certainly couldn't trust any of her housemates in Slytherin. 

That only left one choice. The Marauders.

She figured they had enough adventure-seeking tendencies and were powerful enough for Hermione to believe they could help slay the creature.

It had to be done. 

Hermione sneaked into the Gryffindor 7th Year Boys Dormitory late one June evening.

Remus raised a wry eye when she entered. Peter and James were already asleep, snoring softly and looking far too peaceful.

Sirius's head shot towards her. A look of interest spread across his face, and his eyes darkened. For a moment, he stopped throwing and catching his snitch and stared into her eyes.

That look went right through her. Memories flooded her brain of his gravelly whispers as she lost herself in that broom cupboard. I'm going to take care of you. That's Right. Good Girl. Her face heated up to an inferno.

It had been like this since the incident. They hadn’t spoken, but she could feel his warm gaze on her almost constantly. She couldn’t look up, lest she get caught in his trap, and those confusing, overwhelming, heated memories would have her completely lost. 

Quickly, she darted her gaze away and pulled down her Occulmency walls. This was not helpful. Nothing was more important than her mission. 

She ignored the thump in her heart and jumped on James' bed to wake him.

‘You’ve got to stop doing that!’ James cried, his body flaying in distress. ‘What in Merlin’s name do you want at this time of night?’

‘I thought you looked a bit bored at dinner,’ Hermione replied as nonchalantly as she could, while willing her heart rate to calm. ‘Do you want to slay a monster?’

‘What the fuck, Hermione?!’ James groaned, throwing a pillow over his head.

Peter woke at that moment, rubbing his eyes and blinking in confusion at Hermione. 

‘What monster would you like us to slay?’ Remus enquired politely, not looking up from his book. 

‘Slytherin’s monster,’ she replied serenely. ‘I thought it might appeal.’ 

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sirius leaning forward, his mouth hanging open, blinking in disbelief. His shoulders were held rigid, and he seemed to be squeezing the snitch in his hand. Hermione poised for him to attack.

There was a flicker of something dark and forboding in his eyes. He took a gulp and a deep breath, though and in a moment it had gone, replaced with a blander expression. Hermione knew he was an Occulmens, but experiencing it in person was different. He did have some control. 

‘And where would we find Slytherin's monster?’ Sirius smiled devilishly, his fiery gaze still fixed on her.

Hermione was glad that at least his tone was light, albeit unnaturally so. Still, that look sent a shiver down her spine. At least he hadn't used that low, commanding tone of his, she might not have been able to keep it together... 

‘The Chamber of Secrets,’ she replied simply, a look of challenge in her eyes.

‘Myth.’ Sirius concluded, dismissing her and narrowing his gaze. 

‘Not a myth,’ she clarified. ‘A legend, with a very real creature behind it.’ 

‘And how would you know?’ He demanded, tossing his snitch to one side and leaning even further forward on his bed. 

‘Seen it,’ she shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve not quite seen it, it would have blinded me if I’d looked into its eyes…’ 

‘A Basilisk?’ Remus replied, paling somewhat.

Peter looked like he might be sick. 

Hermione nodded. Sticking to the facts seemed like the best approach. 

‘There’s a passage through the girls' toilets on the second floor. Moaning Myrtle was one of his victims when it was opened 30-odd years ago.’

‘I thought that was a rumour,’ James muttered, his eyes brightening.

Sirius gave her an almost inscrutable look, his eyes widening and brow furrowing. She wasn't sure if it was shock, scepticism or something else. ‘Why do you need us to slay a Basilisk for you, kitten?’ he asked curiously. 

This was the hard bit. How did she begin to explain herself? She hoped that the lure of adventure would be enough for them to avoid asking too many questions. If she skirted around the details and gave some grain of the truth, she might get away with it. 

‘I need the venom in its teeth,’ Hermione explained. ‘It’s a powerful protection against the darkest magic.’ 

‘Yes, well, you're getting a bit close to that nowadays, aren’t you?’ Sirius retorted sharply. 

‘Save it, Sirius,’ James cut in, his voice low and commanding.

There was a pause.

Hermione waited patiently as significant looks passed between the Marauders. It was fascinating to watch. They communicated in a series of raised brows, smirks, eye rolls and long-suffering sighs, as if words were unnecessary. It was the language of those who'd known each other far too long. 

It was clear from their body language that James and Sirius were quicker to take up the challenge. Once they were convinced, it only took another minute for Remus and Peter to sigh in defeat. 

‘Alright then, we’ll do it,’ James declared. ‘What do we need to do?’

‘Well, first, you need me to open the Chamber with Parseltongue,’ Hermione began.

‘You know Parseltongue?!’ Sirius roared, jumping up and stalking towards her.

‘I’m interested in obscure languages,’ she defended, avoiding eye contact and moving on swiftly. ‘Then you’ll need mirrors, so you don’t look directly into its eyes. The sword of Gryffindor, of course, but you should be able to call that quite easily. Your house founder was keen on dramatic heroic idiots…’

‘Hey, too far!’ James shouted, slighted at her words. 

‘Phoenix tears are also useful if anything goes wrong, so I’ll bring Fawkes along,’ Hermione concluded.

‘Dumbledore lent you his Phoenix?’ Remus said aghast. 

‘I’m an outstanding student, Remus. It has its perks,’ she said primly. 

Remus snorted.

‘I’ll meet you at the bathroom tomorrow night after curfew,’ Hermione said confidently, rising from her seat and sweeping from the room. 

Four eyes followed her until she slammed the door beside her, letting out sighs, groans and laughter when she was gone.

‘She’s a fucking nightmare, Prongs,’ Sirius muttered darkly, rubbing her temples.

‘A Basilisk, though?’ James replied in awe.

‘Yeah, I know…’ Sirius replied, excitement clear in his voice.

'I thought you didn't trust her,' Remus probed gently.

Sirius sidled up to him with a smirk on his face. 'And I thought, dear Moony, that you told me that I should try doing that. Besides, I'm not sure trust needs to be involved. Now we know about the beast, are you really telling me we're not going to have a go?' 

'Fiiiiiine,' Remus groaned, falling back on his bed and placing his head in his hands. 

Sirius grinned triumphantly. No matter his complicated feelings towards Hermione, the lure of the quest to slay Slytherin’s monster was too strong. 

And so the Marauders got their final adventure at Hogwarts, one they would talk about for years to come. 

The following night, they followed Hermione down to the Chamber and watched through mirrors in awe as she called upon the Basilisk.

'Bloody hell, Hermione,' James whispered in wide-eyed wonder as they spied the beast emerging from its lair behind a pillar. 

Hermione smirked, watching as Remus paled and Peter began to shake. Sirius, though straightened, holding his wand aloof and gently panted, his eyes alight with fire and glee. She watched as he caught James' sparkling eyes, a look of sheer determination on his face. Hermione had never seen James look quite so much like Harry. Nods, head tilts and hand signals followed as the Maruaders crouched down and got into position to strike.

'Don't look back,' she reminded them firmly, as she charmed the mirrors to float in front of their gaze, leaving them hands free. 'Use the sword or call the Phoenix - it's the only thing that will slay it.' 

As they moved out, Hermione could not help admiring how they moved as one, a well-worn routine developed through years of friendship. It was perfect for a mission like this.   

She hung back, waiting for their signal. Sirius turned to her and gave her a look of such pure exhilaration as he waved his hand.

So, it began. Hermione sent spells to create distractions, making the Basilisk twist and turn from one direction to the other, while the Marauders crept around the crypt, getting closer and closer until they were to strike. 

There was only one scary moment when Peter took a wrong turn and almost got turned into stone. Sirius and Hermione shot out spells in synchronicity to divert the Basilisk's attention, allowing Peter to slink back into the shadows. 

As Hermione sent Fawkes to gouge out the beast's eyes, and James took the first strike with the sword of Gryffindor, adrenaline poured through her veins. 

That mad beating of her heart wasn't the same as the ones she'd had in the war. It felt like an adventure, not a survival. 

It struck her how good this felt, how right. She felt the same bond she had with Harry and Ron. 

What she would give to fight alongside them in this war, to protect them like a true Gryffindor and know that every action she took was pure and righteous. 

So when James struck the final blow and Basilik collapsed, throwing a laughing Sirius off its back, it was a bittersweet feeling.  

She turned around, watching the incredulous look on Sirius's face as he panted wildly and staggered up to admire the slain beast. Hermione took him in, his soaked form, wild eyes and the way he instinctively pulled in James for a hug. He was perfect like this.   

All in all, their mission was done relatively painlessly.

After gathering up fangs, they left the chamber bruised, battered, but full of adrenaline and high on life.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

Everything she needed to achieve at Hogwarts had been done. No matter how painful parts of the last two years had been, she had what she needed, and the chess pieces were in place.

This crazy, ridiculous plan was still possible. 

 

................

 

Two very different parties took place the following night.

Hermione dressed carefully, taking care over her hair charms and fitted dress and robes, making sure it was suitable for a Slytherin cocktail party and a much more relaxed Gryffindor bash. 

Satisfied with her reflection, she cast a disillusionment charm and snuck out of the dorm, winding her way through the corridors to the Fat Lady Portrait.  

In Gryffindor, a party to end all parties was in full swing.

The Marauders held court at the centre of the room, dancing, laughing and pouring out drinks for all, surrounded by what looked like adoring fans. 

As Hermione snuck through the crowds, she heard the whispers.

'They're legends'

'That final prank was epic'

'Quidditch without James Potter? Unthinkable'

'We can't lose Black, he's too pretty!!'

'It's going to be a bit quiet, isn't it?'

Finally, she found her target. 

Peter Pettigrew was handing his friend Sam Smith, Ravenclaw, and recent recruit to the cause, a drink. 

'So you're telling me you slayed a monster? Sounds a bit unbelievable, mate...' Sam said sceptically.

This was it. Hermione needed to test the power of the secrecy spells she'd placed on Peter with something important that he wanted desperately to talk about.

'That's exactly what I'm telling you!' Peter whispered excitedly. 'It was...' he spluttered, seemingly choking on his words. 'We went...' he tried again, his voice stopping dead. 'To the... the... with... with...'

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Peter was unable to give him any details. Hermione’s secrets were safe with him, whether he wanted them to be or not. 

'You're alright there, Wormtail?' James asked, bounding up to him and giving him a slap on the back. 

Sam Smith looked sceptically at Peter, narrowing his eyes at James slightly, but pursing his lips to hold back his thoughts. 

'Fine,' Peter grimaced. 'Just telling Sam here about some of our adventures...' 

'We've had some fun, haven't we?' 

'You're notorious for it,' Sam deadpanned. 'And why do you call him Wormtail?'

'Ah, Sam, don't be like that,' James smiled, pulling Peter in for a hug. 'We're not just friends, we're brothers. The unbreakable Marauders!'

Hermione watched as Sirius howled at the moon at James's pronouncement, and Remus chuckled along.

That was her cue to leave. As quickly as she could, she made her way out of the party, back through the corridors to the dungeons below. 

There, she immersed herself in a very different gathering. 

In the Slytherin common room, a cocktail party was a triumph of sophistication. The champagne flowed, jazz played softly on the gramophone and whispers of camaraderie hung in the air.

Titus pulled Hermione into his arms and didn't let her go for the whole night.

'To the future!' Rabaston Lestrange sang, holding his glass in the air.

'To the future!' rang out the replies. 

'And the Dark Lord,' Severus whispered, earning him winks and smaller toasts from those in the know.

Titus kissed Hermione's hand and whispered sweet nothings in her ear about the life they would have and the world their children would inherit. 

All around the castle, hundreds of similar stories were being told: of success, glory, and happiness. The lives they would lead, and the impact they would make. The future was theirs for the taking.  

Or so they thought.

No one is ever truly prepared for war. 

Notes:

A massive thank you for reading and if you’ve subscribed, kudos or commented. The amazing @sabictlali on instagram drew this lovely, ‘rumours’ inspired cover art

 

Chapter 35: ACT II: WAR

Notes:

We’re now out of Hogwarts, and onto the second of three parts of this story. There’s a little summer respite, and a long way to go, but the stakes are going to get higher from here on in…

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap...

The rapid tap of Sirius's nail on the side table was the only sound in the Potter's Floo Parlour. 

Sirius was alive with anticipation, a buzz of energy shooting through his veins, making it impossible to sit still. He rose, letting out an exaggerated huff, and began pacing the worn carpet over and over again.

Where were they? Hadn't they said six on the dot? Why was he, of all people, the only one here, waiting? 

Sirius couldn't remember a time when he'd done such a thing. 

Suddenly, the sound of thumps on the stairs and heavy, energetic breaths cut through the silence. Sirius's eyes shot up as James Potter barrelled through the hallway and into the room, his gait lopsided, without the grace and practised art that had been drilled into your average Pureblood. 

The rush of affection Sirius always felt when he saw his best friend, now brother, was tempered by impatience. An exaggerated huff and narrowed eyes told James everything he needed to know.

James merely widened his eyes in amusement. 'How are you early?!' 

'I'm not early, Prongs. I'm on time! Can't miss this, can we?'

James gave him a nod, gravity and excitement in his eyes. 'No, we can't miss this,' he agreed. 

Fleamont swept into the room and gave them both curt nods. 'Are you ready for this, boys?'

'More than ready,' James said confidently. 

Fleamont raised his brows and gave them a pained look. 'No one's ever really ready. When you see what's going on out there...'

'We know, Dad,’ James tried to reassure him, placing his hand on his shoulder. ‘We know it won't be easy. We want to do this. We want to do our part...' 

Fleamont sighed, patting his hand on James’s ‘I know you do. Just remember, there’s no harm in taking it slowly. Today’s meeting is about you listening.’

’We’ll be model citizens, Monty,’ Sirius promised with a wink. 

Fleamont gave a rueful laugh and placed his other hand on Sirius’s shoulder. ‘I can’t wait to see it. You’ll be assets, both of you. The Order is going to be very lucky to have you. But don’t go expecting duels next week…’

Sirius stiffened, his heart racing a bit faster. It was hard to believe sometimes that Dumbledore wanted him, a Black, to fight for the light. No matter how much he’d rejected his family, he still felt the tendrils of darkness had infected him somehow. ‘Suppose, I’ve got to prove myself…’

Fleamont gave his shoulder a squeeze and leaned in, his voice low and certain. ‘You’ve both got a lot to prove - because you’ve not been out there yet. But we all know where your heart and your loyalties are. I pity the Death Eater that gets in your way.’

Sirius breathed out, the pain in his chest easing somewhat. He gulped and nodded, unable to make eye contact in the face of such sincerity. 

A shuffle in the hallway caught his attention. He turned his head to find Hermione carrying a stack of books, standing absolutely still, her eyes wide and mouth hanging open. 

She had the strangest expression on her face.

Watching Hermione had become something of a habit.

It had somehow got better and worse since the slaying of the Basilik. Better, because it was harder to believe that she would actually follow the Slytherins into a death cult after slaying their Monster - that would hardly go down well with a Dark Lord. Worse, though, it made everything even more confusing. What the hell was she playing at? 

Right now, Sirius couldn't get a read on her. He thought he saw a mix of understanding, sadness, fear, and something else, almost impossible to place. 

Fleamont gently pulled him towards the fireplace before he could make sense of it.

'Hermione's not coming?' James asked his father as he grabbed some Floo Powder. 

Fleamont urged him on, gesturing for him to go through the fireplace. There was an air of finality in his tone when he spoke. 'This meeting is not where she’s needed, son.'

What the hell did that mean?

Sirius' brain raced furiously as he tried to work it out. Wasn’t she still considering getting engaged to a Dark family? James didn’t believe it would come to anything, and given she'd convinced them all to slay Slytherin's bloody monster, Sirius wasn't sure he did either. Still, outside of this house, she was giving the impression she was an upstanding member of a Pureblood community - someone his estranged family might even approve of. Sirius shuddered at the thought. 

Why would Fleamont, of all people, suggest she had more important things to do than join the Order? 

‘Come on, Pads,’ James urged, pushing him towards the Floo and forcing the powder into his hands.

He didn’t have the time to work it out. 

.....................

 

Hermione breathed a sigh of contentment as she arrived back at Potter Manor. 

Perhaps it was her imagination, but the air always seemed to smell a bit cleaner here. There was a crispness in the air, a fresh scent that wafted through the halls. The wall colours and large windows always made her feel like she was being enveloped in a hug. It was home in every sense of the word. 

It was the end of her second week of her return from Hogwarts and it had been a busy couple of weeks. Now was the time to set her plans in motion - from organising her funds to preparing the many things she would need to go to war. 

She'd employed a financial advisor at Gringotts and set up several innocuous investments, in companies like Madam Dupree's Formalwear and Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour that she knew had long-term success. She bought stocks in materials she knew would flourish, and bet on companies like Nintendo, Apple, and John Lewis on the Muggle stock market. She also hid a good portion under an alias to protect herself from any future spouse. 

Her big project was the slow and discreet purchase of a portfolio of properties, by legal and more nefarious means. Luckily, the Wizarding World had a black market for properties steeped in ancient magic by families who had fallen on hard times. Hermione would need to break their wards, but with her increasing moral flexibility, she saw no ethical problem in acquiring stolen blood and using Dark Magic to meet her aims. Today, she had signed up for a beach house in the Gower and had a cottage in the Yorkshire Moors in her sights. 

A whoosh from the Floo Parlour broke her contemplations, but she didn't really mind. It would only be Remus, and that was a very good thing.

She greeted him in the hallway with a light kiss on the cheek and gestured for him to join her in the kitchen.

'Brew?' she asked as they wandered through, sharing warm smiles. 

'Please,' Remus agreed, letting out a sigh as he sat down at the kitchen table. It was a week until the full moon, and his body was obviously beginning to tire. 

Hermione made herself busy, filling the kettle up and putting it on the stove, then getting out her wand to levitate the tea bags from a high shelf. Remus was watching her carefully as she worked, biting his lip as if he was trying to work her out. 

Finally, she placed a cup of steaming hot tea in front of him, and he took a grateful sip, letting out a satisfied hum. 

'You make it just like my Mum does,' he hummed. 

'I'll take that as a compliment,' Hermione smiled, sitting down opposite and sipping her own cup.

'You should do,' Remus replied. 'Muggles always do tea the best.' 

Hermione blinked and was silent for a beat before changing the subject. 'So you stopped by the shop?' 

'I did,' Remus agreed with a raised eye. 'Thought I saw you near Knockturn, actually.'

Hermione pursed her lips, raising an eyebrow. 'You probably did,' she agreed lightly. 'I was all over town today.' 

'I guess there's no point asking you what you were up to...'

Hermione snorted. 'Bloody Gryffindors. You always think I'm up to secret plans and clever tricks...' 

Remus raised his eyebrow. 'Interesting reference. I didn't have you down for a Roald Dahl fan.'

Hermione sighed internally. It was too easy to relax with the Marauders and let her Muggle cultural references spill out. Explaining why a Pureblood Heiress had been reading ‘The Enormous Crocodile’ would require yet another cover-up. ‘Quit changing the subject, Lupin. What do you think of the shop?' she demanded. 

'It needs a lot of work,' Remus said with a rueful smile. 

'I know that. But the stock's interesting, isn't it? Did you see the translated accounts of anthropogies with different magical beings?'

Remus sighed and gave a knowing smile. 'I did. I can't believe that information exists, but it's not out there.' 

'It's not out there yet,' Hermione smiled. 'We could possibly help with that.' 

Remus gave her a nod of agreement, a twinkle in his eye. 'There's some darker stuff in there... the books are not so bad, but the antiques...' 

Hermione leaned forward, going in for the kill. 'And I would expect you to deal with that. Just set things to one side, and I'll decide what to do with them.' 

'You know I won't be available for at least two days of every month...' 

'Four,' Hermione corrected. 'I'm aware, and I'm planning for you to have more than one day to recover, you know. It's a specialist shop, Remus. It doesn't need to be open every day. People will come if and when we open to find what they need.' 

Remus looked pained at that but gave her a nod. 

'You're the right person for this, Remus, so don't get ideas. There's no one else I trust with it.' 

'I suppose James and Sirius couldn't be trusted around precious, ancient books,' Remus replied ruefully.

Hermione gave an exaggerated shudder. 'Merlin, no... so you'll do it, then?'

'Of course I will.'  

 

............

 

Alongside all this planning for the future, Hermione was busy with the social event of the summer - Narcissa and Lucius's wedding.

Showing her support and being there to help felt like the most important thing for her to be doing right now, however she personally felt about it. Hermione needed to maintain the closeness they had developed at Hogwarts and become an indispensable ally to her influential friend.

The month of July was spent running errands for the bride several times each week. They ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous. Nobody needed colour-changing unicorns at their wedding, but the Malfoys certainly desired them beyond measure. Who was she to judge? She just wished she had Draco here to tease about it. 

Tea with the Blacks became a feature, as she helped deal with Narcissa’s exacting demands.

Eventually, Hermione was reintroduced to Narcissa's mother, Druella Black. It reassuring sign that she was seen as someone who had a place in their world.

Druella was stern but didn’t seem as mad as Walburga. Still, her narrowed eyes and pursed lips suggested she was unsure what to make of Hermione. Gradually, though, these looked softened slightly when her manners and interest in the Dark Arts became clear.

An air of stiffness remained, but Hermione wasn't too concerned. The Blacks thought no one was quite in their league, which was somewhat ironic given how shabby their houses were. 

Bellatrix was a different beast, and Hermione was dreading their first encounter. Luckily, she had Regulus to act as a buffer, who had come to Black Manor to discreetly debate magical theory with Hermione in between the orders from Narcissa. 

Bellatrix swept into the room without greeting, plonking herself down on a chaise longue and sighing dramatically. ‘Why am I here, sister?’ She demanded. ‘As if there are no better things to do in the world?’ 

Hermione felt an icy chill creep down her back and her whole body freeze. That cruel, high pitched voice shot right through her. It took all her efforts to pull down the walls to the fortress in her mind and slam them so far shut, no feeling could escape.

After a few long deep breaths, Hermione felt nothing but numbness. 

‘I don’t know Bella, I didn’t send for you,’ Narcissa replied haughtily, eyeing her mother. 

‘You are sisters and you are Blacks,’ Druella replied. ‘It doesn’t do to keep so much of the organisation of this wedding out of the family’. 

Narcissa tutted discreetly, her poise perfect, and Bella stuck her tongue out at her in a decidedly unladylike fashion.

Hermione watched them both like a hawk, steadying her breath until finally, Bella noticed someone else in the room. 

‘You must be the Potter bitch,’ Bellatrix observed lazily, eyeing Hermione with arch interest.

‘Bella…’ Regulus implored.

‘I am Hermione Potter, yes. My patronus is a vixen, though, so I’m not sure the latter part is correct,’ she shot back wryly.

‘Patronuses are for Blood Traitors,’ Bella scoffed. 

‘I don’t know, Mrs Lestrange, I suspect they might have some use for anyone who wants to assert their advantage over Dementors,’ Hermione replied confidently, not giving Bellatrix an inch. ‘It’s always good to show creatures their place, don’t you think?’ 

Bella shot back a twisted smile. ‘Titus is quite taken with you, isn’t he? A second son - so impressive.’   

‘I have quite enough fortune for that not to be an issue,’ she replied haughtily. ‘And there’s a war on, isn’t there? Second sons often make their mark in chaos.’

‘He’s promising,’ Bella conceded, ‘but he’s far too sure of himself.’

‘Well, I’m sure you’ll whip him into shape,’  Hermione suggested with a respectful nod.

‘Oh, I plan on it,’ Bella promised with a sadistic smile.  

Hermione raised her teacup in salute. How lovely for her intended. She did her best not to shudder. 

 

................

 

'It's just us today, dear,' Euphemia announced as she walked into Hermione's chambers. 

Hermione was smoothing down her best dress robes in the mirror, ready for the Malfoy Nuptials. The mirror had just announced: 'It's pointless, dear. You'll never look so polished again.'  Hermione would never understand why the Wizarding World made so many objects that seemed designed to insult you. 

'Fleamont can't make it?' 

'Unfortunately not,' Euphemia said ruefully, coming to stand behind Hermione, and checking her robes from every angle. 'He's been called away.' 

'Ah,' Hermione hummed. It must be the Ministry. Or Order business. 'Will the Malfoys understand?' 

Euphemia raised her hand and carefully checked each of Hermione's pinned-up curls. 'I suspect they'll be far too busy. I'm sure Fleamont can come up with an excuse. After all, he allowed you to go to Paris with Narcissa, and that shows he trusts them with what's most precious to him. No matter how dangerous he thought it was...' 

Hermione took a deep breath in, holding her hand against her chest at the warmth and pain of that thought. Despite not spending much time with Euphemia and Fleamont, the way they treated her as one of their own was almost impossible to resist. Their affection chinked at her armour, found the cracks and seeped into her.

'It was worth it,' Hermine whispered, her eyes twinkling as she caught Euphemia's gaze in the mirror. Her trip to Paris had been a resounding success. Lucretia Black had taken her and Narcissa to tea, and they'd all got swimmingly. Ganging up on a quieter Narcissa, they'd convinced her into the most exclusive lingerie boutique in Paris.  Lucretia’s tastes were outrageous by Pureblood standards, but she and Hermione slowly coaxed Narcissa into pushing the boundaries of propriety, and found something which no hot-blooded Wizard could resist. Lucius Malfoy was about to be a very happy new husband.  

Euphemia hummed. 'And today will be too. You look lovely, dear.' 

The mirror snorted in response. 

'Yes, well, let's go, shall we?' Hermione threaded her arm through Euphemia and allowed herself to be guided to the Floo.

'Malfoy Manor!' Euphemia declared confidently as she threw power into the grate, and before they knew it, they had arrived. 

As expected, the Manor was a feast for the eyes. No expense was spared in Abraxas Malfoy’s quest to show off his wealth. Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever seen a champagne fountain as big, with so many white peacocks and every surface covered in overflowing floral displays. She pitied any Witch or Wizard with Hayfever today.  

At the ceremony, Lucius was puffed up with pride and self-importance. Narcissa arrived looking like a vision in reams of lace, and an icy, cool expression on her beautiful face. Despite the couple's stiffness, it was clear from how they moved as one that they were deeply engaged with each other.

The bonding confirmed it. As the happy couple smeared their blood over each other's cheeks, ropes of pure white shot into the air and wrapped around each other. A soul bond.

It was the talk of the guests at the reception.

'Hello darling, you look divine,' Lucretia Black said as she air kissed Hermione on each cheek. 

Hermione kissed her back and sat down beside her, nodding to Murial Prewitt beside her. 'Thank you, as do you. I wish I'd had you to judge me instead of my mirror this morning.' 

Lucretia gave a low laugh. 'Those things are so tricky, but worth it when one's niece has such exacting standards...' 

'She's certainly gone all out,' Murial scoffed. 'Those unicorns were quite something...' 

'And quite a challenge to acquire,' Hermione deadpanned, sipping her champagne.

Murial leaned forward conspiratorially. 'Well, it's all worth it for a soul-bonded match, isn't it? Who’d have thought it? For members of the Sacred 28...'  

'How gauche,' Lucreatia cackled. 'I'm not sure either of them will be happy with us all knowing.'

Hermione raised her brow, a twinkle in her eye. 'Still, it means we can be sure they'll enjoy the underwear we picked out.' 

Lucretia laughed out loud at that. 'Are you sure we can't tempt you to join the Blacks? You'd certainly make family functions more fun. I know Regulus is a little stiff and probably more interested in Wizards, but there's always Sirius. The prodigal son might still return...'

Hermione gulped her champagne, trying to hide her reflex to spit it out. She hummed noncommittally. 'I'm not sure you wayward Nephew and I are on the same page, I'm afraid.  I'll be sticking with exploring a connection with the Notts.' 

'If you insist,' Lucretia shrugged, eyeing up Titus across the room appreciatively. 'He's certainly easy on the eye. And if not, I'm sure you can find another willing beau here this evening. Narcissa seems to have invited absolutely everyone.' 

Lucretia was right. Hermione spent the rest of the reception surveying the crowd and making polite conversation with the great and good of the Wizarding Society. Dumbledore and even the Minister for Magic made a brief appearance, charming everyone for the first few hours of the reception. 

There was still a war going on, and those who were not aligned with the dark side made their excuses and went home after the food had been served. This included Euphemia, leaving Hermione only with the reassurances of Druella Black and a charming Titus Nott that every care and attention would be taken over Hermione for the evening events. 

The evening turned darker, and so did the events, with the Firewhisky flowing and the tongues of Death Eaters and their wannabes growing loose. Hermione tried her best to capture the whispers of players that mattered, but their words were lost in the hum of chatter and music. 

Still, she could observe the looks, nods, and who conversed with whom. All of this was useful information about where alliances and allegiances lay. Hermione spotted Titus, Regulus, and Severus talking to Yaxley, Rookwood, Dolohov, and Abraxas Malfoy. 

Those boys she had spent years with playing schoolyard games were now men, coming into their own. She had to occulde hard to hide the horror growing in her chest at the sight of it. 

One by one, they would fall.  They wouldn't know how wrong their decisions were until it was too late. 

Including the man she was now courting.

Two years ago, the idea that she would be discussing an engagement to a future Death Eater seemed like a distant dream. Today, it was very much a reality. 

She had made significant progress. It didn’t matter that Hermione hadn't seen much of Titus during the wedding. They were seated far apart, and Titus was busy with his family and politics. It was still known: they were intended for one another.

Titus took her arm at midnight, pulling her towards the garden for an outlandish firework display and drinking her in with a heated gaze.

'Why haven't I spent the whole evening with you?' he whispered in her ear.

Hermione gave a light laugh. 'I have no idea. You are a very foolish Wizard.' 

Titus smiled smugly and tucked her curl behind her ears, his fingers tracing the Nott Courting Comb in her hair. 'At least I make the right big decisions.' 

Hermione's smile turned into a surprised gasp as a firework Peacock lit up the sky. A host of magical creatures joined it, each lighting up the sky more and more.

Towards the end of the display, more dangerous creatures appeared. Manticore, Nundu, and Basilisk are fighting and devouring each other. It was impressive, awe-inspiring, with an edge of sinister.

During the flashes lighting up the air, Hermione noticed a figure in the distance by the trees.

A tall man, dressed in black, flanked by men in metal masks. Cold red eyes shone brightly and seemed to see right through her.

Hermione got her first glimpse of Tom Riddle in this time. 

Chapter 36: II:I

Hermione had the chance to relax more in the middle of summer. 

Long idle days walking the ground of Potter Manor in the days and cosying up in the library in the evenings kept her sane. At times, she was even able to read for pleasure - something she hadn’t truly done for years. 

Occasionally, she would join James for chess in the evening, watch the Marauders play a game of pickup Quidditch, play the piano together or listen to records in the music room.

In those moments, she would catch silver eyes tracking her movements. A tingling sensation would start at the base of her neck, and her heart rate would quicken. That slow, creeping sensation that made her hair stand up on end.

Sirius was watching her. 

When she caught his eye, time would stand still for a second. Hermione’s heart would pound furiously in her chest, lips parting and breath stolen.

To begin with she tried to occulde. Sirius’ eyes would narrow, distrust written all over his face. In the end, she got sick of it. What was the point in pretending not to feel anything and ending up exhausted? Hermione had to do enough of that with her Slytherin allies.  

Sometimes she would tut or roll her eyes, earning her a raised eyebrow. When she began to stare back defiantly, his eyes would darken, and a slow smirk would spread across her face. Other times, her instincts kicked in, and biting down on her lip was all she could do to keep her desire in check. 

After all the work she had done to push down her memories of the ‘broom cupboard incident’, her body remembered. 

Hermione's experience with Wizards before the war was minimal. There was Ron, Victor and a childhood friend. None of the fleeting moments, stolen kisses and wandering hands had prepared her for whatever Sirius had managed to do - even without touching her. 

It didn’t help that his eyes would darken to pitch black in those moments. The predatory look he gave her almost stole her senses entirely. What she would give for the freedom to wipe the stupid smile off his face with a kiss... 

Hermione would never indulge, though. 

At least those moments were sporadic. Despite not starting Auror training until September, James and Sirius left the house frequently, and Hermione was brutally aware of what they were up to. 

Spying for the Order. 

Despite having no part in the Order, Hermione gleaned enough circumstantial evidence of what their role might be. There were the weekend training sessions, where James and Sirius came back to Potter Manor with minor scratches, looking tired but satisfied - probably having run rings around Moody in duels.

Then there were individual shifts, often at night, that suggested they were taking up spying duties. They came back looking tired, bored and hungry, and Hermione would often send a sandwich to their room or hand them a hot tea, made to their liking. James would always give her a hug and hum gratefully. Sirius had a mix of suspicion and yearning in his eyes.

After weeks of this pattern, his expression softened, and he would take the cup gratefully. 

‘Which poison have you added this time?’ He’d ask conversationally with a twinkle in his eyes. 

Each time, she’d give him a different answer. Head shrinking potion - good for your ego. Polyjuice - thought you’d look good as Dumbledore. Love Potion - James wants a snuggle. She’d earn a slow smile, a chuckle, and after a while, a heart laugh.  

This new warmth to their interactions was tentative, but it was a vast improvement. Maybe, just maybe, they would stop clashing so much. 

Finally, there were times when the Order had an official meeting. It was clear when this happened - always early evening, and the house was empty. This happened at least twice a week, sometimes more. 

Whilst she enjoyed the solitude initially, she was used to the noise and sheer life force of her new family.

Those nights made Hermione restless. 

So restless, that she considered doing something completely for herself, and reconnecting with who she used to be in another life. The Muggle world. A sanctuary of sorts.

Once the idea of a night out with Patti, her wonderful hippie Aunt, popped into her head, it wouldn’t leave. 

It was a risk, of course. But everything she did felt so calculated. Two years of acting like the perfect pureblood and breaking bread with her old enemies had worn her down. It was exhausting to spend all her waking hours considering if each action would get her closer to her goal. 

Sometimes she didn’t want to calculate. Sometimes she wanted to indulge.

One solitary night, Hermione could no longer resist. She dressed carefully in a floaty mini dress, knee-high boots, and put her hair into loose plaits. ‘Scandalous!’ her mirror commented, suggesting she had got something right. 

She was about to take the Floo when James, Sirius, and Remus arrived back through the fireplace, jaws dropping open.

‘Where are you going?!’ James roared, alarmed.

‘Narcissa’s,’ she deadpanned, making for the Floo powder. 

Sirius's arm grabbed onto hers and stopped her in her tracks. She stared back at him defiantly, trying not to get lost in those beautiful silver eyes, ignoring the warmth and weight of his hand on her arm, the tingle in her skin as he gripped her. ‘Oh no, kitten, that won’t do. You look like you’re going somewhere fun, and James will never calm down if we let you go without us. We’re coming with you.’

‘You’re not dressed for it,’ she hit back, not wanting them to ruin her evening.

Sirius shrugged and gave her a wink. Pulling out his wand, he quickly transfigured their clothes. It only took a second to dress himself in skinny jeans and a band t-shirt, looking effortlessly cool. Remus took a little longer, in his twin set corduroy suit, and James was given a more casual set of plain trousers and a white t-shirt.  Hermione couldn’t help but raise a wry eye. Remus looked like a professor, James an athlete, and Sirius a rockstar. Infuriatingly, it suited them all. 

She huffed and crossed her arms. The speed and skill of his work were beyond annoying. 

‘Well, only one of you will pass, and if your names are not down, you’re not coming in so…’ she declared, making for the Floo again. 

Sirius raised his wand again, and James' trousers tightened and turned into jeans, cutting off the circulation where it counted.

‘Are you trying to murder my future children, you knobhead?!’ James shouted, grabbing his crotch.

‘Tighter,’ Hermione smirked, and Sirius complied with an evil grin.

‘For fucks sake!’ James cried. 

‘Okay,’ Hermione conceded, unable to help her laughter. ‘One drink, and you apparate out if I see any sign of you embarrassing me. Alright?’

In the end, they did not embarrass her, but they did embarrass themselves.

They headed to the Star and Garter pub in the King's Road. Patti was predictably there, holding court and celebrating a friend's birthday, who happened to be the singer Kate Bush.

Hermione had never really believed her Aunt Patti’s tales of the musicians she hung out with in the 70s, but apparently, her stories were all true. 

Sirius was in awe, but neither of the other Marauders had a clue who Kate Bush was or any of the sharp cultural references of the group of artists and musicians who surrounded them.

Luckily, all the Muggles were completely stoned. Hermione introduced the Marauders as aliens from another planet, and everyone went with it. The Marauders were too pretty and too fun as an addition to a party for anyone to be concerned. 

Hermione spent a happy couple of hours laughing and dancing with Patti, James and even had the joy of jiving with a musician who looked suspiciously like one of the Stooges.

Sirius flirted shamelessly with Kate Bush, who seemed flattered but somewhat distant. When Kate beamed in delight at her boyfriend arriving later in the evening, it was clear why Sirius had been having one of his rare brush-offs.

‘How will your reputation survive?’ Hermione teased as they staggered out of the pub at the end of the evening. 

‘How will yours?’ Sirius threw back. 

‘Oh, Sirius, you can try, sweetheart, but who will ever believe you?’ she smiled, batting her eyelashes at him. 

He pulled her close, whispering in her ear. ‘It’ll be our little secret.’

She shivered and brushed him off. ‘Alright, Heathcliff, I am a little cold, pass me your jacket.’

‘I’ll let you into my window anytime,’ he winked. 

‘Are the hounds of love hunting?’ Interrupted Remus, making Hermione burst out laughing. Sirius grabbed her and tickled her mercilessly in retaliation.

‘Help me, someone, help me please!’ She squealed.

‘Shut up or I’ll throw you in the lake!’ Sirius shouted theatrically. 

‘As long as you take my shoes off,’ she smiled. 

 

......................

 

Hermione caught Euphemia in the kitchen at the back of the house, staring out into the grounds, a tea in her hand, a pensive look on her face. 

'Hello dear,' she whispered absent-mindedly, staring out onto the lawns. 

Hermione followed her gaze. James and Lily were walking together in the gardens. James was his usual animated self, gesturing wildly. Lily was hugging herself, her fingers tracing lightly over her arms, and a strained look on her face as she stared back at the house, her eyes scrutinising its façade. 

'Did something happen with Lily?' Hermione asked. The implication was clear: was there an incident with the Order?

'From what Fleamont tells me, it's been quiet for the last two weeks. And James hasn't said anything.'

Hermione gently hummed, her brow furrowing as she wondered what was concerning Lily.

'James is so taken with her,' Euphemia said with a nostalgic smile. 

'He really is,' Hermione agreed, moving closer to Euphemia so their shoulders touch in comforting warmth.

'I worry she's not comfortable here. Could you talk to her? Find out what we can do to make her feel more welcome.' 

'Of course,' Hermione promised, squeezing her adopted Mother's arm. 

Later that day, Hermione coaxed Lily over to the pagoda, where they set up a mountain of cushions, afternoon tea and cakes.  

They lazily watched the Marauders play Quidditch.  

Lily sat stiffly to begin with, occasionally looking towards the Manor with a foreboding look. Gradually, though, Hermione noticed that her body started to uncurl.

'It's quite a lot, isn't it? The Manor, I mean...' Hermione offered gently.

Lily gave her a sharp look, but then she sighed in reply. 'It's very different to a 'two up two down' in Cokesworth.' 

'Before I came here, I didn't really see the point in House Elves. Now I get it. Could you imagine cleaning this place on your own?' 

Lily gave a laugh and a shudder. 'I thought you grew up like these people?' 

Hermione shrugged. 'America's different. We move around a lot. I've stayed in places much bigger than this and much smaller. My first house was a 4-bed.' 

'Still posh in my eyes,' Lily replied with a teasing smile. 

Hermione chuckled back in return, barely noticing as James barrelled towards them, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. She had to dodge James' broom as he made a swerve right next to them, nearly knocking her over. Her reflexes were quick, though. As he turned around, she huffed and grabbed his leg, almost pulling him off his broom.

James recovered quickly, of course, like the athlete he was, waving to them as she rode back to their makeshift Quidditch pitch. It was annoying. 

'How's the Wolfsbane brewing going?' Hermione asked, watching Remus in goal, more unsteady on his broom than his friends. 

Lily had set up a Brewery in an outhouse at the back of Potter Manor. Given the fumes running day and night, Hermione presumed that she was brewing for the Order, but she would never ask. 

'It's a tricky one,' but I think I'm getting there. This batch came out much better.'

''Remus seemed much better after this moon. We barely had to patch him up.'

Lily gave a modest smile. 'There's still work to do to make it perfect. But I hope he gets more of his life back. He deserves it.'

'He really does,' Hermione agreed. 

'The shop is helping too, you know,' Lily said gently, warmth in her eyes. 'We were all so worried he would have insecure work - or none at all. He's got a spring in his step.' 

'Well, it benefits me too,' Hermione said with a sly smile. 'I wouldn't trust anyone else with it.'  

'Such a Slytherin!'

'Always.' 

The Match was wrapping up. Remus called off, claiming exhaustion, and James protested loudly.

'Leave him be, idiot!' Hermione shouted. 

'Or what, kitten?' Sirius said devilishly, flying towards them and leaning in so his focus was solely on her.

As always, Hermione ignored the thump of her heart and the heating of her cheeks and shot back fire. 'Don't try me, Black. You know what I can do on a duelling field - and I've got many more tricks up my sleeve...'

'I don't doubt it,' Sirius laughed, turning around and flying back to James. 'Come on, Prongs, it's one-on-one.'  

Remus sank down beside them, giving a loud, satisfied sigh and grabbing a slice of cake. 

As they watched James and Sirius' playfulness, the conversation grew into a comfortable silence.

After a while, Hermione caught Lily eyeing her suspiciously, crossing her arms. 

‘If you’ve got something to say, Lily, just spit it out,’ Hermione probed gently. 

‘How did you throw Sirius over your shoulder? She asked quickly. ‘In the Duelling Contest, I mean.’

‘Physics,’ Hermione replied simply.

‘Muggle physics?’ Lily spat out incredulously.

‘Well yes, it’s all about force I think. With the right angle, you can manipulate another person's weight in a fight.’

‘How do you know this?!’ Lily demanded.

Hermione scrambled for the right answer. It had been Dean who taught her, many moons ago. ‘I trained with a Muggle-born who knew Martial Arts before I came here. I’m sure we could find you someone similar if you’re interested?’ 

Lily looked uncertain still, but gave a short nod, appeased for now.

Finally, James and Sirius seem to tire of their games. As James flew down to the ground, Lily sprang up, running over to him and wrapping her arms around him. They looked so blissfully happy. 

‘How long do you think it will take before he proposes?’ Remus asked casually, as they watched them being adorable with each other. 

‘In hours or days?’ Hermione shot back. 

Remus snorted. 

‘A few months, I think,’ Remus predicted. ‘At least until he thinks he’s not going to scare her off.’

'We'll have a wedding next summer, then. It will be lovely,’ Hermione remarked lightly.  

Remus avoided eye contact with her, pursing his lips and playing with the fringing of the cushion beside him. ‘Don't you know the exact details?’ he asked, almost too casually. 

Hermione gave him a sharp look. Her heart almost fell into her chest at the implication. Why would Remus suggest she would know such a thing? Did he think James was confiding in her? Did he think she had some idea of what might happen in the future?

He couldn’t know who she really was. It wasn’t possible. 

Remus continued. ‘You’re not the only one who pays attention.’

His tone was light, but Hermione could see in the tension in his jaw that he was anything but. 

Despite the thump of her heart and the clamminess in her hands, she must not panic. He must suspect something about her. It was unsurprising, really, given how observant he was and how inconsistent her behaviour was. But logic told her that he could not really know. He was fishing for information, and she must not take the bait. 

She tried to brush it off lightly. ‘Are you trying to play Slytherin games with me, Remus? I’m shocked, I tell you. Shocked.’ 

He laughed softly, and then his face grew serious. ‘Well, you need an ally, don’t you?’

She tried for a smile, but it came out a little sadly, staring at the happy couple, Sirius and Peter, packing away their things. 

‘I always do with these reprobates,’ she confirmed.  

Remus didn’t push her that night, but he was watching her, and she knew it. 

Chapter 37: II:II

‘That’s the last of it!’ James shouted up the stairs of Potter Manor as Sirius slowly meandered down. ‘I’ll take these boxes through the floo and get the beers in the fridge, yeah?’ 

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Sirius agreed, slowing down his pace and taking in the warm and light of the main hallway, lingering on the dusty vases, photo frames and smiling portraits.

This was the first place he could call home. 

Despite itching for a bit of freedom to make his mark and not wanting to trespass on Euphemia and Monty’s hospitality for too long, leaving this place was bittersweet. 

The floo whooshed, and only the sounds of jovial chatter from the portraits and the hum of Potter’s elves could be heard. The sounds of a happy family. 

‘I see you’re getting out before Euphemia gets back,’ a rueful voice interrupted. Hermione stood silhouetted in the doorway of the library, a strange expression of warmth and sadness on her face. ‘She’ll be in bits later, you know.’

Sirius blinked. The Potter's affection for him was difficult to respond to sometimes. It felt wonderful and painful all at the same time. The only way for him to respond was to deflect. ‘Well, I can’t blame her for missing this face,’ he said devilishly.

’You’re incorrigible,’ Hermione tutted and rolled her eyes affectionately. 

‘You love it, kitten,’ Sirius shot back, slowly stalking towards her like a moth to a flame.

As well as comfort and warmth, there was danger in living with the Potters. It came in the pint-sized form of the most beguiling Witch he had ever met. In these walls, there was no escape. 

It was hard to believe sometimes how angry he'd been with her at Hogwarts. Her Slytherin moves and alliances all felt like a distant dream some days. This summer, at Potter Manor, they were all in a blissfully safe, happy little bubble that the ridiculousness of Pureblood Sacred 28 games didn't touch. Here, she was so very different, in the best possible way.  

Deep down, he knew he was in denial. She hadn't stopped visiting her little Slytherin friends - he just didn't have to see it.

When he was around her all the time in this safe little bubble, it was too easy to relax. Her arched brow, knowing looks and quick wits were too beguiling, drawing him into her orbit at every turn.

That was before considering her more physical charms. Watching those sharp eyes of hers calculate everything around her, the way she bit her lips when trying to work out the most complex problems, and the twist her fingers into those wild locks drove him to distraction. He wanted to be the one to card his fingers through them.

Sirius could pick up her scent at 50 paces now. He followed her absentmindedly into rooms, and up stairs guided only by the sway of her hips. 

Today, Sirius watched like a hawk, openly admiring her soft curves as she arched a brow knowingly. ‘I’m getting increasingly good at tolerating it, I’ll give you that. It will be quiet around here.’ 

‘Well, when you get bored, you know where to find me. My Floo will be open day and night…’ 

Hermione snorted. ‘I know you say that to all the Witches….’

‘Not the daytime bit,’ Sirius deadpanned. 

Hermione beamed at him. Sirius couldn’t help but notice how much her skin glowed and the light dancing in her eyes. His eyes traced the freckles scattered around her face. Merlin, she was beautiful. 

Tentatively, she offered him a small parcel, wrapped in paper adorned with stars. 

‘A housewarming gift,’ she said simply.

’You can save that for the party later.’

’I can’t make it, I’m afraid. We leave for France too early tomorrow…’

’What’s one late night…’ Sirius scoffed, his voice low and enticing. 

Hermione shook him off. ‘Open the gift, Padfoot.’

Sirius gave an exaggerated sigh, but did as she asked and tore off the paper. Inside was what looked like a small clock, but instead of the time, it had different labels: work, pub, home, travelling, away and mortal peril.’ Each handle had a name. Padfoot. Moony. Wormtail. Prongs.

’It is to help you keep track of each other.’

Sirius didn’t quite know what to say. This was an amazing piece of magic, and beyond useful in war. His heart felt full. 'You're not on there?’

‘It’s just for Marauder's. And that’s a very exclusive group.’  

Sirius hummed, tracing his finger over the clock, his heart warming at the thought of what they were to him. Family. ‘I could add people, though, right?’

Hermione's face fell, and Sirius thought he saw a thousand emotions pass over her eyes. ‘Or take them away,’ she whispered. 

She gulped and took in a short, shuddering breath, then swiftly turned away, stalking back towards the library without a backwards glance.

’Enjoy the party, Sirius,’ she said in a tight voice, dismissing him with a wave. 

Sirius stared after her, rooted to the spot for a good minute, before shaking himself and turning towards the floo.

Working out the cryptic mind of Hermione Potter was a problem for another day. 

 

........

 

Before she started full-time employment, Hermione spent a fortnight in the sunshine, holidaying in the south of France.

She had spent holidays in her youth on the South coast. Memories came flooding back to her, of the warm colours, splashing in the sea, and evenings spent eating al fresco and the delicious taste of fresh bread, cheese and her first taste of wine. 

She wasn't here to relive her Muggle youth, though - she needed to establish herself as a fixture on the circuit of the Wizarding Elite.  

The Potters had a set of Gites in the hills, but it was better for Hermione to stay with friends - especially now Narcissa was a married Witch and therefore seen by society as a suitable escort. France was a popular destination in the summer for Britain’s Pureblood community, many of whom had family ties to the area.

The Malfoys had the most spectacular Chateaux, of course.

Lucius and Narcissa were fresh off their honeymoon and deliriously happy, in their own stilted way. They were relishing playing house and having guests to entertain, so Pernilla, Parminda and Hermione enjoyed their hospitality, basking in the sunshine and catching up. 

'It's glorious, 'Cissa,' Hermione sighed, looking out onto the manicured lawns as they lounged on wrought iron chairs, cocktails in hand. 

The sun was beginning to fade, and the sky was adorned with the most beautiful warm orange hues. The Chateaux walls looked even more beautiful this way. 

Narcissa gave a satisfied hum, sipping her cocktail. 'It really is. I think this will become one of our favourite properties.' 

Parminda scoffed. 'One must always have a favourite,' she teased. 

'Yes, 'Cissa, it's lovely,' added Pernilla in a dull voice. 

Hermione frowned, taking in the listlessness of Pernilla's eyes and the way she grasped onto her cocktail glass, as if she were afraid to drop it.

Pernilla seemed much more subdued now that they were out of Hogwarts. Hermione suspected her family had beaten some sense into her, given how she flinched at the popping sound of Elves apparating. The Goyle wedding was back on, set for spring next year - almost a shotgun wedding in a society where betrothals often took years. Hermione knew that her intended would rise through the ranks of Death Eaters on sheer thuggery alone. She mused that such status might also appease her old adversary's more unpleasant tendencies.

'Who is joining us for dinner?' Parminda asked idly. 

'My sister, Bella and her husband. A couple of Lucius's associates. MacNair, Antonin Dolohov...' 

Hermione stilled, forcing herself not to shudder. Her history with that Wizard was too painful to consider. That was before considering Bellatrix. If she could stay away from her psychopathic gaze, she would be very happy. 

'Really?' Pernilla frowned, giving a shudder of her own. 'Dolohov wasn't exactly on his best behaviour last week.' 

‘I'm aware that he's not fit to be at a dinner table,’ Narcissa replied icily. 

'Why is he coming then? The way he stares at us all, Cissa! And the remarks! He's just so crude! That's not to mention his abominable table manners...' 

'I know,' Narcissa sighed. 'It sends us all on edge. It's only for tonight, thankfully. Lucius says the Dark Lord favours him and may be useful for us - so we can't get rid of him completely.’ 

'Fair enough,' Pernilla sighed. 'I'm sorry you have to put up with him.' 

Narcissa hummed. 'I've at least made sure that you all don't. I've sat you all on the other end of the table, with Severus and Reg. Evan will be here too - he's been asking after you, Hermione...'

'Has he now?' Parminda whistled, her eyes twinkling with glee. 'Has Titus got some competition?'

Hermione snorted, her tone teasing when she replied. 'I've only ever been able to concentrate on one Wizard at a time, unlike some people I know...' 

Parminda let out a hearty laugh. 'Touche. Let's go to dinner then, and see if anyone is interesting enough to catch my eye...' 

Narcissa hummed in mock disapproval, but led the way. 

A gaggle of Wizards and Witches awaited them just outside the dining room. All were ex-Slytherins, and most were already or about to be servants of the Dark Lord.

Narcissa and Lucius led them all into a beautifully set dining room, and the feasting began.  

Hermione found herself sitting next to Parminda and Evan Rosier, with Severus, Regulus and Lucius opposite them. She was far enough away from Doholov and Bellatrix, at least. 

As the dinner party progressed from stilted first conversations, Hermione found keeping up with the conversation was not taxing. Perhaps it was because her allies were looser in more relaxed surroundings, or perhaps she was getting more used to their personalities and ways of acting. Hermione worried sometimes that it was too easy. Sometimes it barely felt like acting anymore.

The wine had been flowing for a few hours, and Hermione almost felt herself relax.  

Parminda was far too busy flirting with a French relative of Malfoy's to engage in conversation, so Hermione found herself chatting more to the Wizards, which suited her agenda rather well.

Evan, in particular, was very interested in her new job with the Minister, which would start in September. 'The information that you'll overhear...' he commented with a whistle, topping up her wine.

'Well, yes, hopefully, in the long term. I imagine when I start, I'll be doing the grunt work,' Hermione countered. She didn't want to give the impression she would be able to spy, at least not immediately. 

Evan batted her away with his hand. 'You'll charm him into doing the good stuff in no time.' 

'That was almost a compliment, Evan,' Hermione teased. 

Evan chuckled. 'Merely an observation. I'm not silly enough to underestimate you.'

'Sensible man,' Hermione smiled, raising her glass to him. 

Evan smiled and clinked his glass to hers. ‘So, it’s politics for you then? There I was thinking you were a Duelling Champion.'

Hermione snorted. ‘I’m not sure a Hogwarts Duelling Contest reflects the real world. Honestly, I got lucky. I knew my opponent's weaknesses and I exploited them. It’s not going to be like that in the real world, is it?’

‘No, the real world has real consequences,’ said Evan darkly. 

‘And you see, now you’ve made me shudder,’ she smiled ruefully. ‘I don’t think being a soldier is the best use of my talents. I’m a strategist at heart.’

‘And an intellect, I hear. Titus seems quite fond of your poise and beauty as well,’ he teased. There was a heat behind his eyes, though, that made Hermione think perhaps Narcissa was right, and did he covert her as well. It would not be wise to entertain him, of course, but knowing there was another Death Eater interested in her could be valuable in the future. 

Hermione straightened and gave him a ‘Who me?’ look, making him chuckle. 

‘There are many ways to honour the cause,’ Evan concluded. ‘We don’t expect every woman to be like Bella.’

They watched as Bella cackled gleefully as she sauntered back to the table, carrying a bottle of wine. She stomped on the feet of a House Elf who almost tripped her as she went. Hermione tried not to flinch. 

‘No, she’s one of a kind, isn’t she?’ Hermione commented, trying to keep her voice as even as possible.

Severus and Regulus joined the conversation then, and the talk moved to war strategies. Hermione did her best to listen carefully, humming at the right places. Hermione suspected it was all speculation - if her timeline was still correct, most of those at the table, apart from Bella and Lucius, were not yet in Voldemort's Inner Circle. 

'The Wizarding public are now fully aware of the Dark Lord's abilities. The attack on the Ministry building last week must have seemed impressive - like nothing they'd ever seen before, I'm sure. It must have made many of them rethink their understanding of his power...' Lucius said confidently.

'I'm just not sure the guerrilla tactics are workable in the long term...' Hermione argued passionately.

'Shock and awe has its place,' Severus offered. 

'She has a point,' Regulus cut in. 'Should we not be focusing on what needs to be done behind the scenes to have the most influence?'

Severus raised his brow, sipping carefully on his wine. 'But that takes time - possibly too much. A bit of chaos creates a power vacuum, which we can fill...' 

Hermione gave a low, non-committed hum, tapping the side of her glass. 'But what about the impact in the long term? Hearts and minds matter.'

‘The population will be subdued when its rightful masters are in place,’ Lucius insisted, tutting at a House Elf who had served his port incorrectly. 

‘I’m not sure Wizards are like Elves, Lucius,’ Regulus grinned. 

‘Well, we know what to do with Elves who don’t behave, don’t we, little cousin?’ Bella cackled from the other side of the table. 

 

.................

 

A week later, Lucretia Black held an informal ball.

Hermione was delighted to receive the invitation. The great and good of European Wizarding would be there, along with the celebrities, artists, and musicians Lucretia loved. She expected to gather some information, make some useful contacts, and if she was lucky, have some fun. 

It was a much more 'mixed' crowd than most British Purebloods were used to. Somehow, Lucretia seemed to get away with it. Hermione mused that perhaps it was because she had been considered a maverick in the Black family for years, even though she'd never been struck from the tapestry. It helped that she was hundreds of miles from the locus of power and ridiculously rich through her short-lived marriage. 

Rules seemed to bend for Purebloods that summer. What was considered ‘interesting’ company in the UK was tolerable in France, where the climate was hotter, and things got looser. 

That didn’t stop the stiffer of her acquaintances looking distinctly uncomfortable.

‘Regulus, you look like you’ve eaten a bad prawn,’ Hermione remarked, sipping champagne as they watched a jazz musician flirt openly with a European socialite.

‘It’s vulgar,’ he complained, visibly recoiling so far that Hermione thought he might become one with the large plant behind him. 

‘It’s France,’ Hermione shot back with a smile. ‘Having a night off from being the perfect gentleman won’t kill you.’

‘I suppose not. Only because Mother is not here to do the honours if I do slip up,’ he added darkly. 

Snape, who was talking to a well-known Potions Master, beckoned them over.

‘Sev has the right idea, stick to the Academics and you’ll be fine.’

They wandered over and introduced themselves. Hermione coaxed Regulus into the conversation, keeping it flowing until Regulus began to look more engaged and relaxed.

As she turned around, she caught the eye of Henrik Flores, who gave her a warm smile and bounded up towards her, taking her hand and kissing it swiftly.

He was wearing a 1920-style dapper Muggle suit, which suited him very well, and he looked even more handsome than she remembered.  ‘This won’t do, you are looking even more beautiful,’ Henrik scolded. ‘I fear I left it too long to visit you, didn’t I?’

She smiled ruefully. ‘I am getting to know the Nott family now. It’s early days, though, and I do very much enjoy your company. I would like us to be friends at least and continue our conversations - have you heard of the Eineman breakthrough?’

‘It’s fascinating, isn’t it?’ Henrik answered with a grateful smile.

They continued their animated discussion of Transfiguration theory for a while.

Out of the corner of her eye, though, she saw Titus across the Ballroom, talking to Evan. He was staring directly at her.  She caught the tense look in his eyes and the stiffness of his shoulders.

They had barely seen each other over the summer. Their time away did not overlap - although Hermione suspected that Titus's weeks away were not about leisure time. Bellatrix's hints had given away that he was most likely already in training to be a commander in the Dark Lord's Army. Come September, she knew things would be different, so for now, she just needed to make the most of him while he had a few precious days off. 

Hermione excused herself from Henrik and walked directly over to Titus. She schooled her expression, carefully widening her eyes and breathing deeply, to appear relieved at his presence. It wasn't a particularly difficult task. His looming frame, sharp jaw, and intense stare always drew her in.  

‘It’s good to see you, Cariad,’ Titus said, pulling her close and kissing her hand possessively. ‘I thought I might have lost you to Flores.’

Hermione blushed, stepping a little closer to him than propriety allowed. She would give him all of her attention if that's what it took. ‘He’s a friend now, Titus, nothing more.'

Titus gave a teasing hum. 'I blame him entirely, not you. I'm afraid you are quite alluring...'

Hermione scoffed, brushing off an imaginary piece of lint on his robe as she answered in a teasing tone. 'Especially when I'm talking about Transfiguration Theory.' 

Titus grinned and whispered in her ear. 'Some Wizards like a swot...' 

Hermione gave a little shiver and a laugh. 'You are terrible, Titus. I'd like to see a contract before I allow you to talk to me like that.'

'Fair enough. Father will schedule a first meeting with Fleamont next month, I believe.' He leaned in a little closer and gave her a teasing smirk. 'In the meantime, I shall just have to keep you by my side to keep you away from the hoards of Wizards at my back. Evan has been quite keen to tell me how much he enjoyed your company at the Malfoys last week...' 

Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled indulgently. 'You've got nothing to worry about - not with Henrik, Evan or anyone else.  Your friend is obviously winding you up. Henrik over there is a clever, well-connected Wizard, you know. Perhaps he could be useful to the cause?’

Titus squeezed her arm reassuringly. ‘Perhaps. But I'm here to relax tonight.' 

Hermione leant in to his side, enjoying the warmth of his large frame seeping into her, a sparkle in her eyes. 'I can help you with that.' 

Chapter 38: II:III

Hermione’s first day at the Ministry was chaos. 

Whispers came to her through her adopted father as she grabbed breakfast at Potter Manor - a major Death Eater attack had taken place on Diagon Alley early that morning.  Aurors were supposed to be stationed there, but some not very bright soul had decided to deploy them elsewhere. The street and crowds of Wizards and Witches on their way to work were left completely unprotected. 

So Hermione skipped breakfast, grabbed her cloak and made straight for the Ministry an hour earlier than she was expected. Rushing through the atrium and into the lifts, she finally walked into the bullpen outside the Minister's office, straight into the eye of a PR shitstorm. 

Taking small, careful steps into the room, Hermione could feel the tension. Ministry workers were rushing about, furiously scurrying their heads down. Papers were passed, and urgent whispers filled the air. 

It was a strange feeling. To be at the heart of power in the Wizarding World, at the top of the Ministry, was what she had wanted long ago. When she had been young and idealistic, she'd wanted nothing more than to be here, changing things for the better. Now, though, she would play a very different role. She was not here to change a thing - she was here to observe. 

A harassed looking intern grabbed her roughly by the arm and shuffled into an empty desk. ‘Miss Granger? Keep her head down and ears open.’

Hermione nodded in agreement. As much as it was exciting to be in the eye of the storm, she could see that the pressure was immense. Perhaps, given that she did not yet feel that stress, she could offer an objective view and do something genuinely useful today. 

Across the room, Hermione’s new boss - the Minister's Chief of Staff, Henrietta Marchbanks, was rigid as a board, a stern expression on her face as she barked insults at the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Eric Dingle. 

Eric looked furious, a vein bulging out of his forehead, and his arms crossed as he hissed back at Henrietta. Hermione strained to work out what they were saying, but couldn’t catch anything.

A few moments later, Eric huffed, swung around and stormed out of the office.  

It was clear the response was not going well. 

‘What can I do, apart from not getting in the way?’ Hermione asked when Henrietta walked over and put her folder down on the desk beside her.

She was brutally aware that Henrietta had not chosen her for the position. Hermione had 'earned' it through nepotism. If she were in her boss's position, she might not take kindly to being 'gifted' an assistant. Henrietta came with a reputation for being exacting, sharp and brutally efficient at her job. Getting on her good side was Hermione's priority, and she didn't think it would be easy. 

‘That really,’ Henrietta replied in clipped tones, not looking up from the scrolls she was scanning. ‘Unless you can get your father to come back from retirement. Eric is worse than useless.’

Hermione hummed in understanding. Eric had taken over the position from Fleamont Potter after his retirement last year. Fleamont had privately told Hermione that he wasn’t impressed with the appointment. 

Her eyes darted about, and her mind raced as she assessed the situation, trying to boil it down to what really mattered. It was a muscle she hadn’t flexed for a while, that ability to ignore all extraneous detail, but it was still very much within her.

‘It sounds like you have a fall guy then. Who's the hero who is going to swoop in and make everything better?’ Hermione asked archly.

Henrietta's eyes shot up, and she sank further into the chair next to her, chewing her quill and giving Hermione an appraising look. ‘That’s the question. It’s a hard job these days.’ 

‘What about Moody?’ Hermione mused. 

‘Too important to the day-to-day ops of the Auror's office, and definitely a political liability,’ Henrietta informed her, tapping her fingers on the table and pursing her lip. ‘I think it will have to be Barty Crouch. He's wanted the job for a long time, but Mincham’s predecessor didn’t like him for some reason. We all know how awful her instincts were.’

Hermione leaned forward. ‘So, a statement about Mitcham reviewing the case and holding those responsible fully accountable is needed, then? And I guess Barty and Mincham need to be photographed together?’

‘Exactly, Henrietta agreed, widening her eyes and giving Hermione a look like she was trying to work her out. ‘Any ideas on location?’

‘The roof,’ Hermione replied confidently. 

‘The roof?!’ Henrieta scoffed, leaning back in her chair. 

‘Yes,’ Hermione confirmed, leaning in. ‘There’s a Muggle trope in films, men of power go to the roof to make serious decisions, surveying the world they control. It’s a clandestine power move. The view from St Mungos should allow for it. You can obviously never do it again, too many security risks.’

‘Moody will have a fit,’ Henrietta replied, staring off into the distance, the cogs of her mind clearly working to consider if this plan was viable.

‘Ask him how quickly he wants to get rid of his boss,’ Hermione said firmly, offering the killer blow. ‘This could mean hours.’

For the rest of the day, Hermione was assigned to organising paperwork by one of the other assistants, Rhys Jones. The look of smug glee on his face when he went over the task, and the turning up of his nose, indicated that he didn't think she was up to the task. It didn't surprise her. Rhys was presumably a Muggleborn and would have had a fair few run-ins with pampered purebloods. 

The task was deathly dull and frankly was not her forte. This was more what she'd expected from the role of assistant to the Chief of Staff in her first couple of weeks. Grunt work. 

She smiled, though, when the late edition of the Daily Prophet arrived, with Mincham’s grainy rooftop moment front page news. 

Her impact would hopefully make up for her dreadful filing skills. 

 

........

 

Down at the Auror's office, a few weeks later, Sirius was juggling similar problems. 

His first month of Auror training so far had been exactly what he was hoping for, filled with fitness tests, drills and practical assignments. It wasn't as exciting as the work they were doing for the Order, which was much more unpredictable. There, at least, he was out there, making a difference. They hadn't seen much action yet, but he could feel the tension in the air as he spied on Death Eater activity, willing them to trip up and allow him and James to take them down. 

At the Ministry, he wasn't far off taking on assignments either, and he was itching for it. He now just had to get through a month of training in paperwork, which had to be worse than History of Magic with Binns. At least there, he could set off a prank or two. 

James gave him a lopsided grin, suggesting he was thinking exactly the same thing. They would get through this; it wasn’t exactly experimental runes, and they had brains big enough to process the information in about three hours, rather than the requisite three weeks. He just had to get through it without losing the will to live. 

So his mind wandered to more pleasurable thoughts, or at least more complex ones, from which motorbike he was going to get, to which lucky lady would be sharing his bed that evening. 

Sirius was enjoying his new flat in the Muggle part of Soho. It wasn’t much, but it was his, and he was fully taking advantage of his freedom. 

Freedom for him meant control: of his time, his space and the warm bodies he found in fleeting connections. There was no shortage of women in the Leaky Cauldron who wanted a night with the handsome Black fallen heir, or if not, in the Muggle pubs beyond. 

He always made it abundantly clear to his dalliances that he was available for one night only, and for the most part, he didn’t get in trouble for it. He hadn’t had anything more long-term since Marlene in the 6th year, and they’d both seen other people at the same time, so he wasn’t sure it counted. He told himself he just wasn’t cut out for being a one-woman man like James. His rational brain told him it was too intense for him. He was young, virile and charming. If he were lucky enough to have so much interest, why wouldn’t he take advantage?

At least that was the mantra he repeated whenever thoughts of a certain Witch invaded his mind. And they did so often. Hermione bloody Potter popped up in his mind in the most inconvenient moments. 

He thought it would be better now he'd moved out of Potter Manor, and it was in some ways. It was easier to have periods when he couldn't hear, see, or smell her presence. He only saw her briefly in the corridors at the Ministry or Sunday lunches at the Potters, where Fleamont kept a close eye on him.

Still, it didn't completely stop those long, lingering looks between them that were impossible to escape. The darkening of her eyes behind those long, thick lashes had him so tightly wound up that he thought he might burst and drag her into any available room. He thought he'd grown out of pulling Witches into broom cupboards after Hogwarts, but apparently the instinct was still there.

Sirius thought often of the way she kept up with him in a debate, her sharp retorts and little huffs and puffs when he challenged her - rewards for his goading.  Worse still, late at night with her brother and their friends, when she really relaxed and laughed so hard her whole face lit up. 

And from these morsels, obsessive, intoxicating, impossible thoughts invaded his mind, so unhelpful that he had no choice but to push them down.  

It was too confronting and confusing to consider why that particular obsession had developed.

It didn't help that he'd never felt anything quite like it before. Before her, he'd never had an interest in or been able to form a long-term romantic connection. That trust, an unbreakable bond of faith, he saw with James and Lily seemed so rare.

For Sirius, it was impossible. 

War made things different. Everyone in the Order was seeking a reason to feel alive. They were all so caught in concerns about their own mortality. Where others sought connection, Sirius knew that while his obsession still raged in his mind, there was no point in seeking that for himself. Distraction was all he had. He needed something to take his mind off the horrors of war and his fixation on James' sister, so fleeting dalliances suited him fine. He sought only to feel.

It was assumed in the early stages of his Auror training that he was ripe for a honey trap, his reputation as a cad preceding him. But in every trap they laid, he passed with flying colours. He could always take them or leave them.

Apart from in one instance, of course. 

The only time he hadn’t got what he wanted was with her. Hermione bloody Potter. The thought of her invaded his nighttime wanderings, and if he was honest, his daydreams as well. At least his inability to shake her off also helped him practice his Occulmency, like the good Auror trainee he was.

So while unhelpful thoughts invaded his mind, Sirius tried to let his logical brain think itself out of it. He turned the arguments against her over in his mind again and again. He had never been and never should be attracted to someone so interested and involved in Pureblood culture; he was absolutely turned off by it in every other instance. She wasn't fighting for the Order or supporting the light side in any way. In fact, she may end up doing the opposite. He had a hard rule never to date a Slytherin, and he intended to continue that for life, no matter how attractive they were. 

But Merlin, she was attractive. 

It wasn’t like he could fuck her out of his system either, being that she was James' adopted sister. Fleamont had made it quite clear that she was to be left alone by anyone who wasn’t serious about her, i.e. those who made outdated and misogynistic ‘offers’. He wasn’t about to make that sort of bold move - he barely had himself together and was in no state for commitment. 

He wasn’t thinking with his rational brain when it came to her. 

The day he listened and goaded her into taking care of herself outside of that warded cupboard was proof of it. Sirius was haunted by it. Night after night, she came to him in his dreams, begging, pleading for him to give her pleasure. Sirius, please. He didn’t think he’d ever heard anything as sweet. 

Titus bloody Nott did not deserve that. He had to believe what James told him; it was early days, she had to have a reason, it would likely come to nothing. Otherwise, he’d go mad.

‘What are you thinking about?’ James whispered, covering his hand with his mouth and casting a silencing spell around them. 

What could Sirius say? ‘Your sister and those breathy little moans she makes before she comes?’ Prongs was his best friend, platonic soulmate, and brother from another mother. He would never disrespect him like that. 

Sirius went for deflection. ‘Leaky or The Lamb and Flag? We’ve all got a night off for once, haven’t we? We may as well enjoy it while we can.’

‘Lils would love it if we met her in Muggle London...’

Sirius snorted. James had a one-track mind when it came to that Witch. Not that Sirius really minded - Lily was sharp as a button, introduced to the best bands and loved his best mate. He tried his best to keep it light when he answered, doing what he always did: deflect, deny, find a distraction. ‘That works. It’s Thursday, so there should be enough secretaries looking to let loose before the weekend…’

It was James’s turn to snort. ‘You’re a menace, Pads. Let’s see if we can get them talking to Remus. He needs to let loose…’

‘Agreed,’ Sirius nodded, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Remus, who avoided interaction with the opposite sex at the best of times, had only got more introverted in the war. And Remus deserved the world. 

So later that night, at The Lamb and Flag, Sirius made it his mission to find a connection for his friend. It took no small amount of effort, but eventually he managed to cajole Remus into chatting with a pretty blonde Muggle, who practically draped herself over him. 

When she and her stunning friend went to ‘powder their noses’, Sirius rounded on his friend.

‘Come on, Moony, she’s gorgeous!’ he whispered, gesturing to the pert bottom of the blonde, who was walking towards the toilets. 

Remus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘She is. You always charm the prettiest Muggles.

'But?'

'But, I’m not sure I’m up for a one-nighter…’

Sirius sighed, taking a sip of his pint. Remus really was a lost cause sometimes. ‘It’s not so bad. It takes your mind off things…’

Remus rolled his eyes. ‘I’ve got no one to distract myself from, as you know.’

Sirius stilled, his nostrils flaring, staring at his pint intently and ignoring the heavy eye contact from his friend. ‘No idea what you're talking about,’ he deflected, turning to walk towards the bar. 'Let's get you another pint, maybe you'll change your mind...' 

Sirius did have an idea what Remus was talking about, and they both knew it. That sneaky Werewolf had the habit of knowing too much. He was the only one of the Marauders who had an inkling of the turmoil going through Sirius's head.

What his friend didn’t know was the extent of it. That deep pit of feeling that he felt sure he would drown in if he dared to dip his toe below the surface. 

Remus often teased him about how he’d stalled in the Duelling Tournament when Hermione flashed those insanely hot thoughts into his mind, for there were no secrets with Marauders. Every time he did, it darkened the mood. 

Sirius wasn’t sure they got it entirely, that she was an exception to his womanising. 

There was no way he wanted to open the minefield of trying to make them understand.

 

................

 

'So how's life in the Lion's den?' Fleamont asked ruefully, taking a seat next to her in the Potter's library one Sunday evening. 

'Huh?' Hermione's head shot up from her book, a volume about the creation of the first Pensieve in ancient Greek - a difficult read, even by her standards. For a moment, she thought her adoptive father was referring to the Gryfinddor Common Room, and memories of the warm camaraderie and fun in that 'lion's den' came flooding back to her. 

'The Minister's bullpen, Hermione. You've been there for nearly a month and I haven't had a chance to catch up with you properly about it.'

Hermione gave an 'ah' of understanding. 'It's... hard to get a grip on, to be honest.' 

Fleamont hummed, letting the silence stretch so she had time to think on it. 

Hermione screwed up her face and bit her lip, trying to find the right words to describe the environment she'd been thrown into. What did she think of the Minister's office? She barely had room to think over the last couple of weeks. 'It's... chaos, really. But an organised type of chaos. I'm still trying to work out its rhythm, which is challenging when things move so rapidly.' 

The sheer pace of life in the Minister's office was so fast that she felt like she had to adjust her brain speed to keep up. There was no time to ponder or muse. Decisions had to be made in a split second, and actions were pointless if they weren't done immediately. It wasn't just a mental challenge, but a physical one as well. She'd worn down two pairs of heels on his rapid 'walk and talks' with Henrietta, Rhys and other assistants in the department. 

Fleamont hummed again, gently stroking his beard and eyeing her up pensively. 'It must feel like an adjustment. But it would be a challenge for anyone to get thrown into that department.' 

Hermione sighed. 'Perhaps...'

A whoop of joy rang out in the air. Hermione's gaze darted over to the table at the other side of the library, where James and Sirius were playing an animated game of chess. James was grinning widely, and Sirius was rolling his eyes. It was hard not to get drawn into their orbit when they were like this. So full of life.

Earlier that day, Hermione had been drawn into a ridiculous debate with them about the likelihood that David Bowie was a wizard.  As soon as dinner was over, she'd retreated to the library and immersed herself in the most difficult text she could find, scolding herself for yet again getting too close and giving away too much. There was no getting away from them at Potter Manor, though. They gravitated towards her, following her into the library, as had Fleamont. 

 'Definitely,' Fleamont countered. 'I've seen more than one assistant crumble within hours of getting there. The weeping from that bullpen can get distracting when you're trying to have a serious meeting with the Minister.'

Hermione frowned. That must be why Carys Underwood, an assistant with only a few months' experience, had mysteriously disappeared the previous week. Henrietta had just said the job 'wasn't suited' to her. She raised a rueful eyebrow. 'Well, I can't see myself crumbling under the pressure, at least.' 

Fleamont leant forward, swirling his whiskey in his glass. His voice was low and comforting when he spoke. 'No, I can't either. You've had enough pressure in your life already.' 

Hermione gulped, taking a slow breath in. These moments, where Fleamont or Euphemia acknowledged who she really was and her mission, were so difficult to navigate. It wasn't that they gave anything away - it was always subtly done. It was the empathy behind their words that she found so difficult to deal with. They were the only people in this time who she liked, respected and knew the real her.

Hermione had spent so long pretending that to have the truth acknowledged felt like a knife to the heart. It was a deep aching wound within her that, when exposed, consumed her fully.  

Instinctively, she reached out her hand and squeezed Fleamont's gently. 'The pressure is worth it.' 

Fleamont looked at their hands for a moment, then reached over his other hand to place it over Hermione's, squeezing gently back. 

After a moment, his eyes drifted to the table at the other side of the library, where Sirius was goading James into making a move with his chess piece. Sirius's eyes were twinkling into that devilish way of his, sensing a weakness and honing in for the kill. Hermione couldn't look away. 

'She's impressed with you, you know. Henrietta, I mean,' Fleamont said idly.

Hermione frowned and looked up. 'How do you know?' 

'We talk occasionally. She was sceptical at first - as you can imagine, she's had more than one child of a department head come through her revolving doors. But you've outlasted most of them already.' 

This was good news. Getting Henrietta on side would make everything easier in the long run. 'So what do I need to do now?'

'Keep it up,' Fleamont shrugged. 'Keep being useful. Bring that sharp brain of yours every day. Show you can keep up with ambitious Muggleborns that typically do all of the grunt work.'

'Well, I have something in common with them...'

'You do. But you're also my daughter now, bound by magic and blood. Don't ever forget that.' 

Hermione's eyes darted towards James, then, watched as he bounced on the soles of his feet and smiled broadly at Sirius as he took his Queen. Fleamont was right. No matter where she had come from, there was no doubt in her heart that Fleamont was a parent figure to her, and James was her brother - in mind, spirit and blood. 

Then Sirius's sharp silver gaze caught hers. Hermione stilled, feeling that familiar tug of a type of magic hum between them, and letting the delicious feeling wash over her. There was never any stopping it. 

What was he to her? Not family, really. Friend didn't seem like the right word, either. There was too much tension, bickering and restless energy between them for that. 

He was something else. 

Chapter 39: II:IV

On graduating from Hogwarts, Titus had two official jobs. 

One was helping his brother, Tiberius, manage their extensive estates, and the other was a freelance Curse breaker, working with Sacred 28 Wizarding families in their properties. Both of these jobs gave him impeccable, watertight credentials, but neither of them was his true job, which was training to be a commander in the Dark Lord's army. 

Not that he told Hermione this directly. She had deduced as much through his busyness, cryptic clues about his involvement with the cause, and what she knew of the history of the Death Eaters and who would later become. Whether he had taken the Dark Mark yet, what his current role was, and if and when he would have any more responsibility still alluded her. 

It didn’t help that whatever Titus was doing for the cause, it kept him busy day and night.

It was frustrating. So many times, she had to hold herself back from forcing contact, or when she was with him, prying too far and provoking suspicion. 

These last few months, since graduating from Hogwarts and starting at the Ministry, she had felt completely blind. 

This was the reason she had come back so far. To establish these relationships would take time and patience, and having more time with the Potters gave her a certain freedom to lay the groundwork she needed for her mission. 

Hermione had to focus on what really mattered. Titus was behaving exactly as he should, and her position hadn’t changed. 

Since September, Titus had been careful to make sure he saw Hermione at least once a week. He was trying, as best he could.  

At the moment, they saw each other on the Sacred 28 social function circuit, and not yet chaperoned ‘private’ audiences.

It was so different from lazy afternoons in the Slytherin Common Room, where they could talk idly, and she could observe his movements, his conversations and where his attention landed. 

Her mission was to infiltrate the cause, but she saw and heard so little of it.

She might be invited to Malfoy Manor, of all places, but all she was doing was discussing flowers with Draco's mother. 

‘Darling, you smell of Orchids,’ Narcissa said lightly as she air kissed Hermione. 

Narcissa had brought Hermione to one of the many parlours facing out onto the lawns of Malfoy Manor. Shortly, she would host their Hogwarts acquaintances for their afternoon tea, but she had asked Hermione to arrive early. It was a good sign of how their relationship was growing closer, Hermione thought, so at least she was achieving something. 

The room looked out on the large fountain, the sunlight streaming through the huge bay windows. It was a gorgeous effect. Hermione wondered idly if it were possible for her to see every room the Manor had to offer - there were far too many. 

Hermione pulled back and smiled indulgently. ‘You do have an excellent nose for flowers. I was admiring Titus’s latest bloom before I got here.’ 

‘Beauty, strength and fascination? I think he’s got you down perfectly - and it’s a very positive sign at this stage in the process,’ Narcissa smiled back, gesturing for her to sit. 

‘I really should have paid more attention when my mother lectured me about the language of flowers, shouldn’t I?’ 

‘Well, that’s what you’ve got me for. How often does he send a bloom?’

‘Twice weekly,’ Hermione replied, taking the tea on offer and giving it a stir. 

These small acts of courtship seemed inconsequential to Hermione. She knew, from Draco's lectures, how important they were, and to indulge and be seen to delight in each and every one. There was nothing to do but temper down her frustration - The pace of Pureblood courtship was glacial.  

‘And are they substantial?’ 

Hermione smirked. ‘The elves are grumbling about how heavy they are. I’m surprised at the gesture, to be honest. I didn’t have a trainee soldier down as a romantic.’ 

‘His mother obviously taught him well. They are so important to get right during the courting process. The subtleties really matter. What else has he sent you?’

‘Peonies and lilies in the last couple of weeks.’ 

Narcissa gave a satisfied little hum. ‘Admiration and innocence. The former is perfect for now, and one would presume the latter…’ 

Hermione raised her brows, a blush forming on her cheeks as she squirmed slightly in her seat, wondering how to word her answer delicately. ‘Quite. Despite some acquaintances trying to convince me that times have changed, I always wanted to save the most important part of myself for my husband.’ 

Her reasoning was not at all true - it was circumstance, rather than any real sense of conviction, that led to her lack of experience. Still, it was nice not to have to lie to Narcissa about this, and know that there was another Witch who had a traditional wedding night. 

‘I quite agree. And the important thing is you’re both doing things properly. Has the contract arrived yet?’ 

Hermione sighed. ‘No, it hasn’t. I was a little concerned, but our lawyers tell us the Nott firm has a reputation for a lack of urgency in legal matters.’

‘Oh Merlin, yes. Their lead Law Wizard must be over a hundred years old. Still, the Blacks are not that dissimilar. I always thought it was very lucky that Lucius and I got ours wrapped up in under two years…’ 

‘What is the average here? I know more about the culture in the States, to be honest, where things move a bit faster.’ 

‘Three years, probably? A year would be fast. Bella’s took five - but that was down to her being so difficult with her demands. The poor Lestrange's lawyers didn’t know what to do with her.’ 

‘Did she get what she wanted in the end?’

Narcissa scoffed lightly. ‘And more. I imagine you’ll be putting Titus through his paces - but perhaps not quite so aggressively.’ 

‘We’re going to do our best to get the best deal we can. Fleamont met with Titus’s father last week and they spent a good deal of time laying the groundwork.’

Narcissa raised her brow. ‘That would have been an interesting meeting to be a fly on the wall at…’

Hermione chuckled. ‘Yes, they both have a reputation - and different interests. Fleamont didn’t seem at all concerned afterwards. They’ll meet again in early December, and hopefully we’ll get the contract after that.’

‘Well, do let me know how it goes. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s lots of back and forth - knowing all of your reputations.’ 

Hermione laughed. ‘At least Titus knows me well enough to be aware of what I’m like and what I might expect.’ 

‘Let’s just see if Titus can get his father on the same page. He’ll be joining us later when the others arrive, won’t he?’

‘Yes. And I shall make my admiration for his knowledge of flowers known.’ 

‘Do that, my dear. We can’t have him thinking you only care about the cause and not the more important things in life.’

Hermione hummed noncommittally. Titus always did everything right from a courting point of view, greeting her, enquiring about the right things, and acting the gentleman. He would think something was seriously wrong if she started droning on about flowers, though. They talked about their mutual interests, not social niceties.

Titus greeted her as he exited the Floo an hour later, one hand behind his back as he took her hand and gave it a chaste kiss. His stormy eyes told a different story: one of longing, teasing and familiarity.

Hermione could not help but blush. 

‘You have impeccable manners for a curse breaker. Or is it a soldier now?’ she offered with a tilt of her head, trying to gain the upper hand. 

Titus smirked and swerved the question. ‘My Mother wouldn’t have it any other way.’

‘Sensible woman. I hope you’re going to keep up this charm for the long term.’ 

Titus leant in slightly and offered a lower voice. ‘Of course. I know what’s good for me.’ 

Hermione hummed in a sing-song, mock-sceptical tone in response.

Titus steered her into the Drawing Room, where the Witches were waiting. Narcissa raised her teacup in salute, Parminda gave her a cheeky wink, and Pernilla’s nostrils flared slightly.

‘I hope you’ll talk to Mother today,’ Titus whispered, as Hermione unhooked her arm. Titus’s Mother, Elena, was sitting by the windows, staring listlessly into the grounds as she so often did. 

Hermione was developing a tentative relationship with Elena Nott, which was a difficult feat considering she was often not mentally present in the room. She barely spoke two words together and rarely made eye contact. Any unexpected noises or sights would make her recoil, her hands shaking and her eyes wide with fear. 

Hermione never asked Titus why his mother was the way she was, and for that, she thought Titus was very grateful. It was obvious that his Father was to blame, given how Elena froze whenever Tywin Nott was mentioned. Titus, though, stoic Wizard that he was, clearly had no interest in reliving the horrors his father had inflicted. 

Hermione gave Titus a small smile and said sincerely. ‘I’d love to. Maybe I can take her for a walk around the rose gardens? Getting her out and about seems to help her open up.’ 

Titus gave her a grateful smile, then a careful bow. 

‘You’re leaving so soon?’ 

‘I’m afraid Lucius has asked for me.’ 

Hermione grumbled good naturedly. ‘And I’m sure he’ll offer much more interesting conversation than talk about gowns.’ 

‘I’ll try and find you later and offer some more stimulation for your mind.’

‘See that you do,’ Hermione smiled, waving him off. 

But Titus didn’t return until the sun was low in the sky.

After a couple of deathly dull hours listening to idle chatter and a much more pleasant, if silent, walk with Elena Nott, Hermione’s frustration grew. Even when the Wizards, Bellatrix and Alecto Carrow joined them, there was little talk of the cause.

All the interesting conversations were happening behind closed doors. 

Hermione had to do everything in her power to open them.  

 

..............

 

In early November, Hermione and Titus's courting stepped up a notch, and they began escorted meetings at Nott and Potter Manor.

Their Mothers hovered in the distance, and they were allowed to get to know each other one-on-one. It seemed ridiculous, given they’d spent so much time at Hogwarts together, but it was an important part of showing the world their courtship was progressing, albeit slowly.  

Tywin Nott and Titus’ brother, Tiberius, had made very little effort to get to know her yet, sticking to conversations with Fleamont. Hermione wasn't sure if it was basic misogyny, Titus keeping her away from their strong personalities or her current family situation that was to blame. She thought she would need to fully integrate into the cause before Titus introduced her to the more challenging aspects of his life and calling. 

One afternoon, Hermione found herself chatting lightly to Titus, with his mother, who was acting as their chaperone, staring blankly out of the windows as always. For all intents and purposes, the courting couple were alone. 

They had got through the social niceties and dull little courtship rituals, and to the important part. As much as Titus was taking courtship seriously, Hermione always knew there was a clear ulterior motive - mining for information from the Minister’s office for the cause. 

‘So, the Minister. What’s he like?’ Titus probed in a tone that seemed light but was anything but. 

Hermione sighed. ‘It’s hard to know, really. Gruff, I suppose. Stoic, in the face of the challenges he faces, and not very trusting. I’m barely in meetings with him at the moment, to be honest. Everything goes through Henrietta.’

It was true. Hermione had planned to downplay her role with the Minister when speaking to her allies, lest she be asked to change things and mess up the timeline. She didn't need to exaggerate right now, though - she had no real power and very little intelligence.  

’Marchbanks seems efficient.’

Hermione hummed, a small smile playing on her lips as she spoke. ’Henrietta's a force. Sharp as a button and very well respected. It’s no wonder Mincham trusts her. She’s the one who gets things done - or gets as far as she can...’

‘You like her,’ Titus said with a twinkle in his eye.

Hermione huffed. Her admiration for Henrietta was obviously written all over her face, and Slytherin loved to point out each other's feelings, as if they were weaknesses to be ashamed of.  She wasn't ashamed of this, though. Looking up to a successful, powerful Witch was only natural - whether she was playing this role or her true self. 

‘She’s an impressive Witch,' Hermione spat back in clipped tones. 'And the key to getting to know Mitcham.’

Titus held up his hands in defeat. ‘You're right, of course. I’m sure you’ll charm them both eventually. You’ve certainly got a knack for it…’ 

‘Smooth, Nott,’ Hermione chastised with a knowing smile. 

Titus beamed back and lightly placed a jewellery box in front of Hermione.

Hermione smiled knowingly and picked up the box. ‘Family jewellery, I suppose?’ she asked lightly, her eyes sparkling.

‘Of course,’ Titus confirmed. 

Hermione opened the box to reveal the gold filigree pendant. ‘Tell me about it,’ she said, lightly tracing her fingers around the box surrounding it.

Immediately, she realised her mistake.

A sharp burning sensation ignited in the tips of her index finger as it almost made contact with the pendant. Hermione stifled a gasp. This family jewellery of his had burned her. Cursed to repel Muggleborns, in all probability. It knew what she was, even if no one else did.

With all her effort, she pulled down on Occulmency walls, pushing down her desire to cry out in pain. Sweat began to bead at her temples as she breathed through the discomfort. 

Luckily, Titus’s eyes were fixed on the pendant itself. If she were very lucky, the slight shake in her hand could be put down to nerves. 

‘It’s been in the family for around 400 years, give or take,’ Titus explained. ‘It has protective Charms, which should ward off jinxes and most hexes. Standard Charms otherwise, Muggle-repelling, etc. We can strengthen it with a bit of blood magic.’

As he spoke, Hermione discreetly cast a pain-relieving charm and crude glamour. They were temporary, but would be enough to get her through the final part of her afternoon with him, before she could excuse herself and take her leave. 

Hermione did everything in her power to keep her voice even. ‘All pretty standard, and useful in war. Anything else?’ 

‘No, that's it,’ Titus confirmed. ‘I have no intention of tricking you with my gifts, Cariad. It wouldn’t be the best way to start a marriage.’

The pain was beginning to subside now, and in its place, only relief. Hermione took deep breaths, and her eyes closed momentarily. Finally numbness spread through her fingers, and she began to feel herself again. 

Titus must have interpreted her behaviour as being lost in the moment. He moved closer towards her, tucking her hair behind her ears and staring into her deep brown eyes. 

‘And what would be the best way to start a marriage?’ She teased lightly, a blush forming on her face.

Titus' eyes darkened slightly, his gaze intensely trained on her. After a moment of stillness, he pulled her to him and landed a firm kiss on her lips. 

It took a moment for her to react. She hadn’t been kissed for what felt like an age - and it was almost like she had forgotten what it felt like.

Her muscle memory returned, though, and tentatively she began to move her lips against his. It felt good. That soft, fuzzy feeling she remembered from her past experiences came back to her as his soft lips pillowed against hers, his tongue teasing her gently.

Soon, she joined him in vigour, twisting her hand around his short hair.

The low buzz of desire she’d felt for him ignited into a spark, his lips soft and unyielding against hers, making her forget what had just happened. 

They got lost in each other, the pendant forgotten.

 

..........

 

Hermione’s hands shook as she got back to Potter Manor later that night. 

She let out a huge breath and hung her head in relief at being back to relative safety. 

Ignoring the sounds of laughter coming from the parlour next door, she headed straight for the attic. 

Hermione began by healing the small burn on her finger, her body shaking with delayed shock as she completed her work. 

She cursed herself for not preparing for this. Of course, his family jewellery would have Muggle-repelling Charms. Of course it would burn her. She should have been ready. 

There was nothing to do about it now, apart from making sure it didn't happen again. 

She placed the pendant on the top of the table and began revealing and pulling apart the Charms and Curses within, bit by bit.

It took a couple of hours of concentration, sweat, and almost tears, but she was finally confident she had a good understanding of it and would be able to counteract its darker qualities. 

In a fit of emotion, she threw her glass of water at the wall in frustration with herself. How could she be so stupid? She could have undone two years of work in one second. 

‘What did the glass ever do to you?’ asked Remus lightly as he climbed the stairs to the attic.

‘It was too transparent,’ she shot back tiredly, her head in her hands. 

‘Merlin forbid. Are you alright?’ 

‘Just a long day,’ she sighed, pulling up a chair to collapse in. 

‘Ah yes, is the Minister overworking you?’ Remus asked gently. 

‘I’ve barely seen him yet, to be honest,’ she sighed.  

Remus hmphed and moved to observe the pendant laid out on the table. ‘Present from Titus?’

‘Uh-huh. Just testing it for Charms and Curses. Can’t be too careful with Slytherins,’ she tried, giving him a tired smirk. 

‘Please tell me it isn’t responsible for that burn you’ve got healing,’ Remus demanded lightly. 

Hermione snorted, ‘It wouldn’t be very good form to burn your intended before you’d signed a contract, would it? Titus isn’t that stupid.’ 

‘Nobody with those looks gets all the brains either,’ Remus replied slyly. 

‘Outrageous!’ Hermione cried in mock indignation. ‘Are you after my intended, Remus? And insulting him at the same time?!’ 

‘He’s not my type,’ he laughed. 

‘Ah, who cares, he’s pretty,’ Hermione laughed, dismissing him with a wave. ‘Why not have a bit of fun before you find your mate?’

‘You think I’m going to find a mate?!’ Remus replied, shocked. 

‘I know so,’ She replied confidently, finding the energy to jump up from her seat and looping her arm around his. ‘Now, let’s go and see those idiot friends of yours, and brainstorm some ways to get you some fun before you do.’

Chapter 40: II:V

Hermione tried to stay away from The Potter’s friends and family as a rule. Socialising with those outside of Sacred 28 functions raised far too many questions. Euphemia and Fleamont did their best to navigate this for her, deftly coming up with excuses, whether it be her insular, bookworm character or the busyness of her role at the Ministry. 

As the Yule season began, though, she had an invitation the Potters did not want her to turn down. The McKinnions were hosting a beginning of Yule season party, and Euphemia thought it was sensible that she attend.

‘I know you’re not sure about this,’ Euphemia started as she fussed with Hermione’s hair and wiped the lint off her deep red robes in the mirror of the Floo Parlour at Potter Manor. ‘But Craig’s impressed with you, and it wouldn’t do any harm for your job to be seen there.’ 

Hermione hummed noncommittally. Craig McKinnon was a stern, senior Auror, with a bedside manner almost as lacking as his boss, Alastor ‘Mad Eye’ Moody. Hermione had sat in on some discussions with them about how to manage the public in the aftermath of Death Eater attacks. She suggested some creative solutions to getting the public to listen to Ministry advice on protecting themselves, and take it more seriously than the array of propaganda out there. Craig had barely reacted, so she was surprised to hear he’d noticed her. 

‘Come on,’ Euphemia urged, ‘You don’t have to stay long.’  

‘What about James?’ 

‘He’s joining us there. Helping Marlene set up, I believe.’ 

Hermione raised her brows, unsure if a party influenced by Marauders was really how she should be spending her time. 

Euphemia bundled her through the floo, into the McKinnons' Blackhouse in the Scottish Highlands. It had the telltale shimmer of a dwelling that had been magically enlarged, with warm, dark green walls, a huge hearth and traditional Yule decorations adorning its walls. 

Hermione peered out of the window, taking in the ancient stone walls and moonlight shining over the Loch. A half moon. Remus, her ally, should be here at least. 

But he was not.

Euphemia steered her through into the main living space, straight to greet their hosts. Craig McKinnon stood proudly, his stoic expression giving little away as Euphemia happily greeted him. His hardened, wizened face reminded Hermione of a proud Hippogriff. 

‘So you’ve bought the young protege, have ye? Harold seems impressed with you.’ 

‘We’re all very lucky to have her here,’ Euphemia said proudly, giving Hermione a squeeze. 

Craig McKinnon hummed, his expression not giving anything away. ‘I hope you drink whiskey, lass.’

‘I’m starting to develop a taste for it,’ Hermione replied diplomatically. It was necessary, given that the McKinnons had a family brewery that had produced Firewhiskey for generations. 

‘Time to learn, then. Find that wayward brother of yours. I’m sure he’s got a steady supply going.’ 

Craig had the measure of James Potter. Hermione found him in the kitchen, pouring out some dastardly-looking cocktail. 

‘What are you wearing?!’ Hermione demanded as she stepped further into the space. James was kitted out in a full tartan kilt and sporran. 

‘I’ve gone native,’ James declared. 

‘Are you sure that’s allowed?! You’re as English as they come…’ 

James shrugged, pouring her a red wine and handing it over. ‘Marlene was playing dress up with Sirius, and he dragged me into it.’ 

He pointed to the other side of the room, where Sirius was standing. Hermione gulped. He was wearing the same get-up as James, but somehow it looked so much different on him. The way the fabric of his Jacobite shirt was draped, open, exposing the fine hairs of his chest, with his strong, lean calves on display, looked so artless and appealing. 

Really, she should look away. It was hard not to stare, though, with all that before her. It should be illegal for a Wizard to be quite that appealing in a kilt. 

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, her gaze unable to move from Sirius as he laughed with Dorcas Meadows and Marlene McKinnon. At one point, Sirius tucked the hair behind Dorcas's ear, his expression playful and knowing. Marlene was carelessly playing with the waistband of his kilt, her other finger curling around the string of his shirt. 

‘Don’t ask me what’s going on with those three. I think it’s some kind of free-love commune,’ James grumbled.

Hermione gulped and turned away, her cheeks heating up. She didn’t want that image in her head. The thump of her heart got stronger as she pushed down her feelings. Was it uneasiness, discomfort or something else?  

‘Not your cup of tea?’ She managed to croak out. 

‘Nope! Just waiting for Lily,’ James declared with a sappy smile. The floo whooshed in the background. ‘That might be her!’ 

Hermione snorted and took a sip of her drink as James ran off to find his lady love.

Slowly, she meandered out of the kitchen and into the hallways beyond, smiling at acquaintances as she went. She wasn't in the mood for company or small talk, and she would never be relaxed enough to get drunk here. It looked too small a dwelling for a library, but she managed to find a bookcase in a dark corner where she could peruse.  

Lost in thought as she scanned the book titles, she barely noticed as a warm body sidled up next to her. 

‘I doubt you’ll find your sort of thing in that bookcase, lass,’ a gruff, slurring voice interrupted. 

Hermione let out a ‘huh?’ and turned her eyes to see an unsteady-looking Angus McKinnon next to her. Angus was Marlene's older brother, a couple of years above them at Hogwarts, graduating before Hermione arrived. They'd barely spoken before. 

The smell of stale sweat and whiskey overwhelmed her as Angus took an unsteady step towards her, trapping her between the bookcase and the wall.

Hermione stiffened. He was far too close.

When he spoke, it was in a low growl. ‘I know the Potters trust you. But I’ve got your number.’

Hermione’s back straightened, and her nostrils flared. ‘Excuse me?’ 

‘You’re courting one of the Notts,’ Angus spat. ‘A family of Death Eater scum if I ever saw one.’ 

Hermione froze, momentarily stunned. This was why she avoided these types of events. Someone connected to the Order was bound to take offence to her. Everyone knew about her connections with dark families. 

Angus looked her dead in the eye, grabbing her robes and pulling her closer so they were nearly nose to nose. ‘You’re just a Death Eater Slag, aren’t you?’

That was quite enough. Rage boiled within Hermione, and for the first time since she was a teenager, accidental magic sprang from her. Sparks flew from her fingertips, sending an electric jolt towards Angus's chest.

Almost at the same time, she felt a strong arm scoop her up by her waist, sweeping her to the side.

Time seemed to move slowly as she registered the lean arms and musky scent around her, lulling her body into relaxing. She would know that scent anywhere. Sirius. 

Sirius used his other arm to grab the nape of Angus’s neck and whisper an incantation into his ear. Hermione watched as if in slow motion as Angus slumped to the floor, eyes closed and passed out. 

‘Oi, Diggory!’ Sirius shouted across the room to Amos Diggory. ‘Sort your mate out. He’s pissed as a fart.’ 

Hermione let herself be guided out of the room, barely registering as Sirius whispered in her ear. ‘What do you need?’ 

‘Air,’ she managed to croak out. 

Seconds later, fresh crisp air hit her lungs as Sirius steered her out of the back door to the kitchen and into the heath outside. Hermione took a greedy breath, savouring it.

They didn’t stop moving until they found a small bench, looking out onto the moonlit Loch. 

Hermione loosened herself from his grip and sat down with a huff. ‘I didn’t need saving, you know.’ 

‘He was bothering you, kitten,’ Sirius said simply, sitting down beside her. His tone was casual, but Hermione could spot his tells. There was something more primal beneath it.

‘It’s nothing I can’t handle,’ Hermione chastised, letting out a huff. 

‘I’m aware,’ Sirius said darkly. ‘I caught some of that electric shock you fired.’

‘Don’t expect me to apologise…’ Hermione grumbled, with more venom in her tone than she felt. 

It was easier to bicker with Sirius. When he was being warm, good, and, Merlin forbid, chivalrous, something uncomfortable stirred within her. If she let herself be vulnerable with him, she had no idea where it would lead. 

As much as she tried to fight it, she was beginning to feel that low buzz of awareness she always had when he was around. An unescapable, yet not unpleasant tension remained, even when they managed to keep their conversation light. 

Sirius gave her a dastardly grin and waggled his eyebrows. ‘Maybe I liked it…’

Hermione snorted and crossed her arms. ‘Of course you did. Don’t drag me into your wicked games.’

Sirius' eyes twinkled, and he bit his lip, leaning in, his voice low. ‘Worried you might like them too much?’ 

‘Doubtful,’ Hermione scoffed, trying to cover up the way her whole body heated up at the thought. 

‘You need to relax,’ Sirius chuckled, pulling out a rolled joint from his sporran, turning to her and giving her a heart-melting smirk. ‘You were wondering what I had in there, weren’t you?’ 

‘Stop flirting and light the joint, Padfoot,’ Hermione demanded primly. 

‘As you wish, Lady Potter,’ Sirius replied, doing her bidding, lighting the joint and passing it to her. 

Hermione took a deep breath of smoke, leaned back on the bench, and felt a calm wash over her.

They sat in blissful silence for a while, passing the joint between them, staring out onto the loch and sharing sly looks. 

A chill began to descend in the air around them. She scooted closer to Sirius, snuggling her body against his delicious warmth. 

‘How are you not freezing in that skirt?’ She teased. 

‘Kilt, you Heathen! I’m hot-blooded Wizard,’ he shrugged. ‘Besides, I like a bit of breeze on my…’

Hermione raised her finger to his lips to silence him. ‘I don’t want to know about your shrivelled…’

Sirius gasped in mock outrage, placing a warm finger on her mouth. ‘That’s really not a problem, I assure you.’ 

Hermione couldn’t help but let out a shocked little laugh. ‘Stop! Too much information.’ 

A voice behind them interrupted their revelry. ‘What are you doing hiding out here?’ James said lightly, coming to sit next to Hermione. 

Hermione offered James the joint, which he took gratefully. 

‘McKinnion’s being a dick,’ Sirius explained. 

James' eyes hardened. ‘What did he do?’

Hermione huffed. ‘It’s just a difference in opinion. I’m used to it, don’t worry.’ 

‘You shouldn’t have to get used to it,’ James grumbled. 

‘I had a knight in shining bloody armour to save me,’ Hermione replied wryly. 

James leaned forward, turning and beaming at Sirius. ‘Pads, are you going soft?’ 

‘Just trying to get him back for that detention he gave us in third year,’ Sirius said nonchalantly. 

‘You two are ridiculous,’ Hermione scoffed, giving them both a nudge and a grin.

…………

 

Yule crept up on Hermione, and she felt herself doing something she hadn’t done properly in years: relax. 

Her newfound family drew her in, their affection almost impossible to resist. Hermione was the happiest she’d been in this time, with Marauders, Lily, Fleamont and Euphemia all alive, whole and bringing warmth to their Manor. 

She worried that part of the reason she’d had an easier time this year was that she had begun to forget the life she’d had before this one. Her memories felt so unreal, and in many ways, they were. They hadn’t even happened yet. 

As Yule crept ever closer, she set up a shrine in the parlour of her room, with reminders of each of the people she’d lost, and candles next to each of them. Her parents. Harry. Ron. Ginny. Even Draco. 

She lit each one in turn, spilling a drop of blood into the candle and tried to hold onto a happy memory of them, reminding herself why she was here and what she wanted to save. The bittersweet tug of nostalgia pressed on her heart. 

James watched her complete this ritual one evening and came up to give her a bear hug when she finished.

‘I can’t really imagine losing someone I love,’ he remarked gently. 

‘You will lose people, it’s part of life.’

James hummed, uncharacteristically pensive. Hermione could tell, though, that there was no pain there. He didn’t really understand - yet. 

‘I just hope they don’t get torn away from you,’ she continued in a hollow voice.

‘Is that what happened to you?’ he asked gently. 

‘Yes, quite literally,’ she replied quietly, staring into the flicking flames.

‘How do you survive that?’

‘You don’t really,’ Hermione answered. ‘You're a shell of your former self. But it hardens you, and that can be useful.’

‘I hope you know you can be soft with us. We’re family,’ he said softly, hugging her tighter.

‘I’d like to be. Maybe one day…’ she hugged him back. 

 

..........

 

Neglecting her Slytherin contacts was not an option, though. 

Hermione used an invitation to the Black family Yule cocktails as a chance to catch up with Regulus and Severus. Sparse letters and fleeting meetings were all she’d had from either of them, and she needed to understand what exactly had kept them so busy. 

Hermione did her duty as she arrived, bowing deeply to the stern Head of the family, Arcturus, and paying her respects to the senior Witches Melania, Irma, Walburga and Druella, who all looked down their noses at her. There were no outright hostilities, though, and that in itself was a win in dealing with the insular Black Family.

Narcissa commandeered her to tell all about her plans for the renovations at Malfoy Manor, which were extensive. Hermione managed to nod and smile in all the right places before Regulus saved her and pulled her over to chat with Severus.  

‘So 7th year? Finally, at the top!' Hermione teased. 

Regulus gave a rueful grin. ‘Something like that. Hogwarts is certainly different this year…’ 

‘Less Gryffindor influence?’ Severus said wryly, sipping his goblet of red wine. 

Regulus’ eye glazed over, a clear indication he was occluding. This was interesting. He should be celebrating, but he was obviously uncomfortable. ‘It’s certainly cleared a pathway for our acquaintances to have more freedom.’ 

‘I hear there have been many recruits for the cause,’ Severus replied, raising his goblet.

Regulus clinked his own goblet with Severus’s, with a tight smile.

‘But there’s a fightback, I presume?’ 

‘I can’t deny the Mudbloods have spirit,’ Regulus agreed, his voice listless. 

Hermione noticed the lack of malice in his words. If she didn’t know better, she would think Regulus was missing Lily and James' presence. It was slow progress, but something for Hermione to hold onto. 

Severus hummed, his gaze pensive as he almost absentmindedly scratched his left forearm. It was a calculated move. Slowly, the disturbance in his robes revealed more and more pale skin, until the edges of a deep black ink were revealed. 

The Dark Mark. Hermione let out an almost imperceptible gasp. Severus had gone through the ritual then.

Shaking herself, she noticed Regulus stiffen beside her, his eyes wide and hungry. 

He wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Hermione caught Orion Black raising his brow, Walburga looking an interesting mix of impressed and jealous, and Arcturus' steel gaze slightly narrowing. Not everyone in the Black household had bought into the cause so much that they would dedicate their lives in such a way. 

Still, they were all clearly sympathetic. Severus, who had been politely ignored up until that point, found himself being nodded at, passed whiskey and let into circles of conversations he would previously not have had access to. 

Hermione noticed how that made him stand a bit taller, his chin tilted higher, and his shoulders relax. It must be gratifying for him, she thought, after spending all this time with families who had never quite found his blood good enough. Hermione wondered how he could reconcile this with his obvious love for Lily, though. 

Towards the end of the night, she, Regulus and Severus gathered together in the library, completely alone.

‘How did it feel?’ Regulus whispered, eyeing up Severus’s arm with something akin to longing.

‘Like nothing I’ve ever felt before,’ Severus answered reverently. ‘The power… it was immense. There was terrible pain, but the thrill… the thrill was something else.’ 

‘Did he tell you why he marks his followers this way?’ Regulus asked, his expression intense.

‘So he can call them to him,’ Severus explained. ‘And so he knows their loyalty, of course. Without absolute loyalty, his aims cannot be achieved.’

Hermione regarded the mark, tracing it with her fingers, trying to reveal its secrets. 

‘You look sceptical, Hermione,’ Severus remarked.

‘I always do, don’t I?’ She smiled. ‘It’s incredibly powerful magic, I am beyond impressed. To feel that inside you must be something else… and the binding is so thorough. You’re in his service now and forever.’

‘And you think that’s a problem?’ Sev asked, his eyes narrowing. 

‘Like you say, loyalty is needed,’ Hermione appeased. ‘But you know I have a problem with giving up control, no matter how good the cause is.’ 

‘If you’re with Titus, it won’t be expected,’ Severus reassured her. 

‘I know. I’m not just sceptical for my sake, you know, I’ve got allies to think of,’ she smiled softly, winding her hand around each of their arms.

‘You've been spending far too much time with Gryfindors,’ Severus grumbled. 

‘Don’t I know it!’ she laughed.

............

Hermione did spend too much time with Gryffindors. 

Over the next few weeks, it was hard not to. Christmas was for family, after all. The days were full of simple pleasures - presents, laughter, a small feast and games she felt comfortable enough to take part in. 

She probably shouldn’t have spent New Year's in their company as well. 

This year’s New Year’s Eve gathering at Potter Manor was smaller and more intimate than previous years. Perhaps the ongoing war was making social circles tighter. It included some Selwyns, Bones, Prewitts, McKinnons and Hermione’s one Slytherin ally, Parminda.  

Otherwise, it was a reunion of lions. The laughter rang loud, their games were raucous, and the drinks intoxicating. The cup of life overflowed, as the most extroverted people she knew in this time celebrated another year on this earth. 

Hermione didn’t quite feel comfortable joining in, but she was more than happy to observe. Parminda had bought the finest Firewhisky, and they proceeded to gulp their way through it, getting more and more tipsy as the night went on. It was enough to melt her stony heart.

She watched the scene before her. They were so full of warmth, so full of life. Watching James and Lily wrapped in each other, Sirius lightly flirting with everyone he saw, and even Peter, who she barely even noticed most of the time, full of rum and having the time of his life. 

Her chest began to heat, her head became light, and her vision blurred as she lost herself in the revelry. It was all too easy to allow Remus to pull her into a jive and allow herself to get spun around and around until she was almost completely out of breath. 

Remus spun her around for one final time, and let go of her hand. Hermione laughed as she continued to spin more and more erratically, lost in the heady feeling. 

Suddenly, she bumped into a solid mass of flesh as strong arms wrapped around her. She didn't need to look up. That spicy, masculine smell and the unmistakable feel of Sirius’s lean muscles engulfing her, and the freshly drawn runic tattoos peeked out from under his shirt told her all she needed to know. Hermione melted. 

'Shall we dance, kitten?' Sirius whispered into her ear. 

'We're already dancing,' she grumbled good-naturedly, clasping onto his shirt and tracing the smooth lines of his clavicle with her fingers. 

Sirius let out an almost imperceptible gasp, his body stiffening slightly before he relaxed again, and pulled her into a traditional dance hold. His eyes were on her, intent and teasing when he spoke. 'Come on, kitten. Throwing yourself at me is hardly dancing. Your etiquette teachers would never approve...' 

Hermione held her head up defiantly and tried to hiss at him, but it came out as more of a slur. 'You know nothing about my etiquette teachers...' 

He twisted her around quickly that she gasped, her head spinning so fast that it was hard to see. Sirius's eyes traced her body, watching as she struggled to stay upright, giving a devilish smirk when he saw how out of control she was.

He leant in then, grasping her harder by the waist and pulling her body flush to his side. Hermione felt his warm breath tickle the side of her neck as he dipped his head. 'I imagine they had some trouble keeping you under control.' 

Hermione couldn't help but shiver. She took a deep steadying breath, trying hard to keep her voice even when she replied. 'Oh, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?' 

Hermione felt him smirk against her shoulder, his hand squeezing her waist possessively. 'You're right about that. I could show you sometime...' 

She had to bite back a groan. Damn that infuriating, flirtatious Wizard, putting dark, forbidden thoughts in her head when she was weak and susceptible. 

Luckily, Remus saved the day. He grabbed her by her hand and shouted, 'Stop flirting, Pads! The Witch is needed in the Music Room!' 

Hermione let herself be dragged through Potter Manor into the Music Room and towards the piano. When she arrived, she grabbed onto the cool hardwood of the case, using it to steady her drunken body as she collapsed down, practically onto Remus's lap. They giggled together and wriggled until they were comfy, each taking one side of the keys, and starting to play random duets together. 

It was not particularly successful, but it was fun. More than once, they were told to 'get on with it and stop laughing!' or shouted at for not playing many requests that came their way.  

Before they knew it, the countdown to New Year was on. Hermione accepted a glass of bubbles from a nearby elf, falling into Remus's shoulder. There was no way either of them could move, as drunk as they were, so they contented themselves by whispering the countdown to each other like naughty school children. '5, 4, 3, 2, 1!' 

‘1979!’ Sirius howled, grabbing Dorcas for a celebratory kiss. 

Remus gave Hermione a sloppy kiss on the cheek, and she patted him on the head, her body swaying. They were both completely wasted. 

‘Shakedown 1979. Cool kids never had the time,’ she sang to him.

‘I don’t know that one,’ Remus replied, a look of adorable confusion on his face. 

‘Nobody does, Remus. Nobody ever does,’ she slurred. 

It was all too painfully easy to bask in the Marauders' warmth.

But life was about to get very hard.

Notes:

We are half way through 🙌. Thanks for all the kudos, subscriptions and comments, they are wonderfully motivating x

Chapter 41: II:VI:1979

Hermione knew the exact moment when the realities of war hit James Potter. 

She had just got back from an afternoon with Narcissa and Parminda, filled with dull chatter occasionally interspersed with complaints about the inconveniences of the war. Deaths got in the way of the important things in life, like socialising and shopping, apparently. Hermione occluded hard, and did her best not to let her righteous indignation at their callousness overwhelm her. 

Her ability to compartmentalise was always washed away as soon as she returned to Potter Manor. The warmth, light and goodness of her now familial home flooded her senses, and she would practice her well-worn routine of calming her breathing, reminding herself of her purpose and repeating her mantras. Everything she did was in service of the future. 

So when seconds after Hermione had arrived back through the Floo, the fireplace whooshed again, she barely registered it. 

It took her almost a full minute to calm her breathing before she turned around. Her eyes rose in surprise when she saw who was behind her, standing silently. James.

If James Potter had been rendered mute, there must be something wrong. 
  
James was standing with unnatural stillness in crumpled, ripped Auror robes, staring out into the distance. The expression on his face was almost completely blank, his mouth slightly parted, and his eyes watering as if he hadn’t blinked for some time. 

Hermione turned to see what he might be looking at, but only saw well-worn damask wallpaper.  

Carefully scanning his body, Hermione noted the slight shake in his hand, the ghostly pallor of his skin and the shallow, almost imperceptible breaths. It was as if he were haunted by something. 

Hermione knew that look. Again and again, she had seen it etched across the face of her loved ones in the aftermath of horror. War must have reared up and forced him to confront it. 

‘James?’ she whispered, taking a slow, careful step towards him. Her hands were held up in front of her, a universal gesture of peace. 

His eyes shot towards her in confusion, as if he hadn’t registered her presence. ‘Huh?’ 

‘Brew?’ she asked gently, gesturing for him to follow her.

James moved almost blindly, stumbling towards her and then following her without question to the kitchens. 

‘Bring us some tea outside please Effie,’ Hermione asked their Elf, who took one look at James and gave a concerned nod.  

‘Let’s go outside,’ Hermione suggested, offering her arm, which James took without question. 

Hermione remembered how he must have felt, even though it was a distant memory now. The ringing ears, the dissociation, the surrealness of it all. 

Being outside, in the peace and calm of nature, would hopefully help him slowly regain his composure. So she sat him down on a bench, cast a warming charm and waited. 

They sat in silence for quite some time. Hermione listened to the bird song and watched the twinkle of frost on the lawns, occasionally sipping her tea. 

She felt, rather than saw, James’s body slowly uncurled. 

Finally, he let out a croak. ‘There was an attack.’ 

Hermione hummed, eyeing him seriously. 

‘It’s the first one really, that Sirius and I have seen that was so…’ James sighed and took a shaky breath. 

‘It was too late?’ Hermione suggested softly.

James nodded and gulped. ‘The girl I found… she was our age...'

Hermione hummed gently, placing her hand over his gently, willing him to continue. 

'She looked… she looked… it could of been Lily…’

His voice cracked at the end. Hermione could do nothing but let out a sympathetic breath and pull a sobbing James into her arms. 

...............

 

That haunted look didn’t last long. 

The next day, James’ face was etched with pure determination. He had assembled Lily, Sirius, Remus and Peter on the lawns of Potter Manor, all apparently powerless to resist the Potter heir when he was on some sort of a mission. 

Hermione stood slightly aside from the group, with a cup of hot chocolate in her hands, blowing on it gently and looking on in amusement at their exasperated faces. 

James paced in front of them, like a drill sergeant. ‘Right, get into pairs and spread out,’ he demanded in a tone that brokered no room for disagreement.

Unfortunately, his friends and family did not get the message.

‘Excuse me?’ Lily said sharply, folding her arms. ‘Are you ordering me about now?’ 

‘Lils, it’s for your own good,’ James replied tightly. 

Sirius widened his eyes and let out a low whistle. ‘Smooth, Prongs. Very smooth…’ 

‘Why are we here, Pads?’ Remus sighed, rubbing his eyes. 

James held up his hands in submission. ‘Training. You all need... I need you all to be fully prepared,’ he pleaded. 

‘But surely, we get enough of that in The Or-‘ Peter spluttered.

Sirius gave him a sharp, dangerous look that stopped him in his tracks. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. Sirius obviously thought she was not a safe person to talk about Order business around. She gave a dramatic sigh and turned to leave. ‘I’ll be back at the house if anyone needs me…’

James grabbed her arm to stop her. ‘No. You stay,’ he demanded. ‘You all need to do this. We only have so much time with the Or-‘

Sirius threw a lazy silencing charm at him before he could finish. 

James gave him a look that said ‘really?’, Sirius grinning in return. 

Hermione cut in, her voice dripping in sarcasm. ‘Merlin forbid that I’ve actually put two and two together and worked out that a bunch of over-zealous, righteous Gryffindors are bound to have been groomed by Dumbledore to join his precious Order…’

‘Groomed?!’ Sirius gasped in mock outrage. 

‘You heard me,’ Hermione shot back with a raised brow and a sly smile on her face. Goading him was just too fun sometimes.  

‘Enough!’ James roared, silencing their bickering. ‘You are all training today, whether you like it or not. We run through drills, we make sure your defensive skills are water-tight, and we rest easier knowing it might make a difference. Now get into pairs, before I make you!’ 

‘Yes sir,’ Hermione and Sirus muttered in unison. 

 

...............

 

Hermione walked into the library at Malfoy Manor slowly, taking a moment to breathe it all in.

God, she had missed this place. Those months studying with Draco, free from war and responsibility, were a sanctuary for her, in some strange, twisted way. It was crazy that this place could house some of the best and worst experiences of her life at that point.

Eagerly, she scanned the tall shelves, lovingly taking every single volume of text. This place was a marvel. Perhaps, in another world, she would have chosen a husband for a library alone.

Out of the corner of her eye, though, she spied a bat-like young man, shrouded in black. Severus.

He was hunched, even more than usual over a large, ancient-looking text, his brow set with a deep furrow.

Hermione had been concerned that she had barely seen Severus since Hogwarts. He was an important ally to her, and probably more than that if she were truthful with herself. She needed him, for information, for his Dark Mark and his companionship. She just had to make sure he needed her, too. 

‘Narcissa said I might find you here,’ Hermione interrupted gently, walking towards him.

Severus’ eyes shot up, his brow softening slightly. ‘Well, it is the best place in this Manor. I’m not sure our hosts appreciate it, though.’

Hermione chuckled as she took a seat beside him. ‘Harsh. You might have a point, though. I always thought knowledge should go to those who appreciate it the most. Should we make a plan to steal it from under them and donate the whole thing to the British Wizarding Library?’

Severus raised a wry brow. ‘A secret socialist, eh? I’m not sure they’d see that coming from you…’

Hermione grinned back. ‘It would be somewhat out of character… so what’s stumped that brain of yours?’

‘Working out the mind of Salazar himself, actually,’ Severus said, turning the book over so she could see the title.

Brewing for Serpents, she read. ‘Ah, I read that one a few years ago. There’s a brew that helped me along with Parseltongue.’

‘I thought this was the only copy in this country…’

Hermione’s heart beat a little louder in her chest. The first time she’d read it was with Draco, in this library, 20 odd years from now. She held her own and didn’t give anything away, though. ‘That’s what Lucius tells everyone, I’m sure… Salazar’s an interesting character, isn’t he? The way he sees the world is unique…’

‘He certainly is, and he’s helping me think differently about some experimental brews.’

‘But he has blind spots, as well...’ Hermione said knowingly.

Severus hummed. ‘He certainly does. I can’t abide the lack of precision. It feels like a more scientific approach would have got him much further with achieving his ideals.’

‘Well, I’m sure you can do a lot to improve upon his methods. But you do look tired, Sev. I hope you’re not working at it too hard.’

‘Psst,’ he waved her away. ‘I probably have been spending too long bent over a cauldron, but it’s worth it.’

Hermione bit her lip and paused for a moment. She needed to find out what he was doing and how and if she could help. Small, careful steps were the only way. She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I can’t imagine Master Llewelyn is pushing you hard. I hope that means that the cause is opening up new possibilities...'

Severus had an apprenticeship with the renowned potioneer, Owain Llewelyn. He was a well-known genius, but most of his breakthroughs had come 50 years previously. The slow, cautious approach he favoured must be at odds with Severus's desire to experiment.  

Severus took a second before he answered. ‘It is. Llewellyn is a joke. My work for the cause is far more important than the bog standard brews I’m assisting on as part of my mastery. ‘

‘I imagine so.' Hermione paused for a second, speaking her next words carefully. 'I know there’s very little you can tell me about what you’re working on, but happy to be a springboard for ideas. I know how much I value yours and Reg’s input when I’m working on something new….’

Severus paused, his whole body stilling for a moment. Hermione tried not to stare into his dark, fathomless eyes. It would not help to show how eager she was.

After what must have been a full minute, Severus turned the heavy text around so it was in front of her. ‘See this,’ he said, pointing at the text, which read ‘The Inferi Plague’. ‘Salzaar talks of creating multiple Inferi, all of the same heart and minds, so that dozens can be commanded at the same time. It was the Middle Ages, so the numbers now seem small to us. I’m less interested in the size of the army, but more about his methods of controlling them.’

Hermione scanned the text in front of her. It was fascinating. There were so many layers to it, his experience, methods, philosophy and the Wizarding culture of the day. She had read this particular piece of the text the first time around, and the temptation to devour it was strong.

That academic curiosity of hers reared up as she pondered each line, calculating the possibilities. Hermione was in her element. ‘He speaks of the mind of an Inferi as if it’s possible to be sentient. It doesn’t exactly fit with current Wizarding understanding of the soul…’

‘Not the current understanding, no.’

‘It looks like he’s suggesting that sentience can be recreated in some way and imprinted on a dead soul. Like Frankenstein…’

‘Interesting reference...’ Severus said in a drowl, dry voice. 

‘I read extensively, Severus,’ she shot back, not missing a beat. 

‘I’m aware,’ he smirked. ‘It’s a complicated set of spells, rituals and a potion. The ingredients are, of course, ridiculously imprecise. I’m trying to work out what we can substitute for the Dacranum Elongatum, and the exact time to cultivate the Hellesborne.’

Hermione’s blood raced at the possibilities. This type of theorising and experimentation was deeply satisfying. Understanding how a precise change in ingredient or method could alter results fired up her brain. ‘The possibilities are endless. But I do think we should look back at how Salazar learned. The Wizarding Culture of the time, but also in Moorish culture, where his family was from.’

‘Interesting. I do wonder whether we could align our experiments with the key dates in the Moorish calendar at that time...’

Hermione loved how Severus and her brain worked in harmony in these moments, striving for perfection and pushing the boundaries of what was possible.

‘And also look to his personal diaries of his youth to look for dates of significance to him. I’m sure Lucius has a copy here somewhere…’

Severus gave a satisfied hum.

They talked about theories for hours that day. Lucius found them later that afternoon as the sun was going down, still lost in debate. Luckily, Lucius merely hummed with approval when he heard what they were discussing.

From then on, Hermione was invited to the Manor library to see Severus regularly. Hermione thought he must be experimenting somewhere on the grounds, but she didn’t get invited to see.

It didn’t surprise her. Hermione had no Dark Mark, and what Severus was doing was clearly important for the cause.

It was enough that he talked to her about his challenges. Gradually, they found more and more time to discuss theory, and she helped him consider different possibilities for experimentation for his dark brews. Hermione leaned little tidbits on the way. Nothing important - but at least she felt like she was a part of the cause in some way, albeit on the fringes. 

At the time, she could set her feelings aside and act as an objective academic.

She set aside that part of herself that would ask if they should experiment in this way. The question was only ever if they could.

When she returned to Potter Manor, though, she would always let out a full-body shiver. A coldness seeped into her bones, setting deep within her.

Her descent into darkness would drag her down, but if it lifted up those who mattered the most, it had to be worth it.

 

.................

Later in January, Hermione was called into Fleamont’s study.

‘The Nott family have entered into formal negotiations,’ Fleamont began. ‘I have the first version of the contract here. It is traditional to say the least.’

Finally. Hermione knew that courtship took an age, but the slow pace was frustrating - mostly because it wasn’t on her timetable. She was the one who wanted to decide if and when the courtship turned into a marriage. Control was everything.

Hermione grabbed the contract and began to skim the text, her brow furrowing further at every ridiculous clause. 

Traditional was a polite way of putting it. She would be chattel. 

Pondering for a moment, she handed the contract back and smiled serenely at Fleamont, who looked perplexed at her calmness.

‘Send it back, replacing every ‘Hermione’ with the name ‘Titus’’ she stated politely. 

‘I don’t think that will be acceptable…’ Fleamont started. 

‘It doesn’t need to be acceptable, it needs to make a point,’ Hermione said firmly. ‘We are not to be trifled with.’ 

Fleamont smiled proudly. ‘No, Hermione Potter, we are not.’

The news of the arrival of the contract reached the ears of Lily and the Marauders, and it was the only subject they would discuss that evening, much to Hermione’s chagrin.

When she walked into the library that evening, she knew something was up. Sirius was sitting brooding by the fire, his body stiff and lips pursed as he stared into the flames. James's wide eyes took her in as she walked into the room, and Remus's worried gaze shot between her and Sirius as she picked up a book and sat down in an armchair beside them. 

Hermione was determined to ignore them, not wanting to get in the middle of whatever was going on.

When Lily arrived, though, she didn't have much of a choice. 'What's got you all so wound up tightly this evening?' Lily asked, absentmindedly stroking James' hair. 

'Hermione's betrothal contract came through,' James said in an unnaturally light tone. He shot a worried glance at Sirius, furrowing his own brow and then started to babble. 'It's early days, though, right? Lots could happen. Most of these contracts don't come to anything. I heard the Longbottoms had one that dragged out for 10 years, and it still didn't come to anything...'  

Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a second. Of course, her continuing to pursue a marriage made no sense to them all. She'd been at her most Muggle over the last couple of months here at Potter Manor. It was hard to know whether it would be best to rip the plaster off now and make it clear what her plan was, or continue to allow them some hope. 

There was still a long way to go. Hermione scanned James' puppy dog eyes and then caught sight of Sirius again, watching as the light from the fire danced over his face, highlighting the concern etched on his chiselled features. An uncomfortable feeling bubbled in her stomach.  The desire not to disappoint them was strong.

She decided to put them out of their misery. 'Lots could happen,' she confirmed gently.

‘You have a contract? For your marriage? That’s… that’s… that sounds barbaric!’ Lily spat.

Hermione sighed and tried to explain. ‘Lily, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but it’s there to protect Witches…’ 

‘Protect them? What do they need to be protected from?!’ Lily questioned, her voice shrill. 

‘Wannabe Death Eaters for one…’ Sirius chimed in darkly. 

Hermione turned to him, scanning his tilted chin and defiant stare. He sat perched on the edge of his seat now, the long, lean lines of his body held taut, and arms crossed. It was the look of a young Wizard full of anger at the beliefs of his family, and how they had tried to bind and bend him to their will.

But there was also a hurt behind it. Perhaps that his best friend’s sister would willingly enter that world. Perhaps that such archaic beliefs existed in the first place. 

Or perhaps, there was something more personal behind it. This strange connection they shared, buzzing between them like a live wire.  Now that they had crossed that boundary in the broom cupboard incident, they knew how it would burn when they set it alight. 

That dangerous thought could only go unexamined. 

‘Careful,’ Hermione cautioned him, giving him a stare that would cower a lesser man. 

Sirius did not give her an inch, his eyes wild and defiant on hers.

There had been a brief respite from hostilities. Over the last few months, their bickering had been lightweight, inconsequential. Hermione could see now from the flash of hurt in his gaze that this meant something to him. The floodgates would open again, their supposed beliefs set across a chasm. There was no way to avoid the clash of wills that would inevitably come next. 

To avoid a staring match, or worse still, an argument that would send them both up in all-consuming flames, Hermione turned her frustration on Lily. 

‘Lily, you cannot be that naive. Every woman needs potential protection from their spouse. However, when they start their marriage, things go wrong, people change. Domestic violence, financial abuse, affairs - all these things happen. In Muggle culture, this is protected through the law, and there are charitable institutions in place, but even then, many women fall through the cracks.’

‘It’s a bit more restrictive than that, though isn’t it? Remus butt in. Hermione’s eyes narrowed at the interruption. ‘Don’t try and turn me to stone with your eyes, Hermione, I’m just trying to give her the full picture.’

‘Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?’ Hermione shot back. ‘Lily hasn’t had the full picture, the understanding of the heritage behind these traditions, and the consequences of not engaging with them.’

‘You call an enforced chastity clause with death as a consequence, a wonderful part of our heritage, do you?!’ Sirius spat, clearly unable to contain his fury for a moment longer.

‘I’m not marrying Regulus Black, Sirius,’ she deadpanned. ‘I’m potentially marrying a lesser Nott. He’s known me for two years, and knows exactly what would happen to his balls if he tried to pull that one.’

‘So what will be in the contract?’ Lilly asked sceptically. 

‘We’ll see. It takes months, often years, to agree to them. As a minimum, I’d expect fidelity clauses, property rights, bonuses paid on birth of heirs, with some potential consequences for breaking vows. A lot of it is lip service, the bonds take care of ensuring mutual interests.’

‘The bonds?’ Lily said quietly.

‘How have you not educated Lily on this, James?!’ Hermione demanded, rounding on her cousin. 

‘I didn’t want to scare her off!’ James replied defensively. 

‘So you get happily married, and then one day she discovers how very different that is from a Muggle marriage?!’ Hermione cried, wanting to hit James for his stupidity. 

‘I don’t know that about Muggle marriages to be honest…’ James replied meekly. 

‘And herein lies the whole problem this bloody war is really about!’ Hermione raged. ‘Mixing cultures leads to conflict, unless each party tries to understand the other and negotiates.’

Hermione sighed deeply, rubbing her temples. She couldn’t believe she was the only person in the room who was defending this, given her heritage.  She stormed to the nearest bookshelf. 

‘Lily - I will lend you books, a lot of them. Here, start with this one on bonds,’ Hermione finished, handing her a text. 

Lily took the book and stormed out of the room, James following her.

A brief silence followed. Hermione angrily flicked through the pages of the book on her lap, avoiding Remus and Sirius's stares. She didn't want to get caught up in their disappointment or anger right now. 

Sirius, though, wouldn't let her off that easily. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see the rise and fall of his chest getting more and more pronounced. She wouldn't be surprised if she found steam coming out of his ears. 

With a scrap of his chair against the wooden floors that made her wince, Sirius jumped up, leaning towards her. ‘You’re mixing cultures too, kitten,’ he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. ‘Notts are nothing like Potters, they will do anything they can to subjugate you. Why the hell are you subjecting yourself to this?’ 

She had no answer for him. Meeting his gaze head-on, she huffed and pursed her lips in a thin line, refusing to answer. 

Sirius gave her a hard look and stalked off after James, his palm flexing as if he were restraining himself from lashing out.  

Hermione couldn’t help but stare after him, long after he'd left the room, her shoulders slumping and gaze softening. 

She almost forgot that there was still another Marauder in the room. ‘He’s right, you know. Nothing is worth giving up your freedom for,’ Remus chipped in softly. 

‘But it is,’ said Hermione, throwing herself onto the sofa, defeated. 

‘You’re speaking from experience,’ Remus prodded.

She didn’t give anything away, so Remus continued carefully. ‘Whatever it is that happened before you came here, whatever you know now, none of us wants you to throw your life away. No matter the cost.’

Hermione thought carefully before she answered. 

‘You say that now, Remus, but you don’t know. You’ve not experienced war yet, not properly. It’s not a comfortable truth, but there are always trade-offs.’

‘What trade-offs?’ he asked, trying to understand.

‘Who lives, who dies,’ she said firmly. ‘Those decisions are the consequence of all the tiny decisions we are making every day, and also the split-second ones we have to make when faced with danger.’

Remus still looked incredibly confused, so she tried to change tack.

‘Okay, I’ll give you an example.’ Hermione tried. ‘Heard of The Trolley Problem?’

‘Nope,’ Remus shrugged. 

‘If a train was hurtling towards the tracks right now and you only had a chance to save one person, would it be James or an unknown child?’

‘I couldn’t live with either of those outcomes,’ Remus answered quickly. 

‘It’s war, Remus. You might have to.’

Chapter 42: II:VII

Harold Mincham did not suffer fools gladly. 

He had been elected to the office of the Minister of Magic based on his hardline approach to tackling the growing threat of Voldemort. He spoke confidently, with a gruff manner that made the Wizarding World believe that he had things under control.

But he did not. 

Hermione was now four months into her position as Assistant to the Chief of Staff, and she was beginning to get a full picture of the way things were. Any naive, fleeting thoughts she'd had about the ‘good fight’ and the righteous words his campaign for Minister had been built on had been swept away.

The reality was, chaos reigned.

It wasn’t that Minister Micham wasn’t trying. Hermione watched his frowns, temple rubs and jaded expression as he listened to horrific briefing after horrific briefing, full of twists and surprises. It always felt like they were on the back foot. 

The circumstances didn’t allow him to do much. Hermione listened carefully to each briefing, trying to work out what, if anything, could be done, concluding, time after time, that the answer was - very little.

The solutions were always the same. Reallocate resources - which would work for weeks, days or sometimes even minutes, before a new threat sprang up; persuade the Wizengamot to ratify a new law - which never led anywhere; spin this to the Prophet - which was smokes and mirrors to distract the public from what was really going on.

If Hermione had been sceptical before, she was positively dripping with cynicism now. 

Mincham was also beginning to lose his political capital. He had one early success in his reign, increasing the number of Dementors in Azkaban, which meant that once a Dark Wizard was caught, there would be no escape. It kept him safe from political censure - for a while.

The problem was in the catching of Dark Wizards. Voldemort had been quieter during Harold’s first few years in office, but those with any sense knew he was watching, waiting and replenishing. Despite his redirection of as many funds as possible into the Auror office, and the clear genius of its Head, Alastair Moody, they were losing. 

Hermione could feel the shift in the air in the first few months of 1979. There was a foreboding atmosphere, a sense of fear permeating even the highest office in the land. Something was shifting.

Hermione knew what was coming, of course. The Dark Lord had fresh recruits, and they were making their dent. 

The attacks on Muggle-borns had been consistent, insidious and frankly, barely noticed by the wider Wizarding population, such was their status in society.

But one cold February morning, that changed.

‘Beloved Columnist Helen Green Slain,’ read the headline in the Daily Prophet.

As soon as Hermione read it, she ran to the floo, heading straight for the Ministry for what was bound to be an early morning briefing.

For Helen Green was a high-profile target. Her gossip column in the Prophet had been devoured by readers for years, and her gentle ribbing of the Wizarding Elite set tongues wagging across the Wizarding World.

Hermione scanned the details as she ran through the atrium to the Minister's office. The Prophet had not held back. Helen was brutally murdered in her home, along with her elderly Muggle mother. All the gruesome details and a picture of the Dark Mark hanging over their cottage were on display. The implication was clear - Voldemort was responsible.

She walked into the Minister’s office to find Henrietta, the Minister and a couple of other assistants ready to sit down.

Hermione took her chair next to Henrietta, who was grasping onto the Prophet. They nodded in greeting and swiftly sat down. 

There were some sharp looks from the other assistants at Hermione's position close to the Minister, but she paid them no mind. There was no point in apologising for being good at her job, and even better, working out how to make her bosses happy. 

It had only taken a few short months to prove herself. Henrietta was using Hermione for more and more complex tasks, and her political mind was sharpening. She relished the buzz of it and the ability to flex her intellectual muscles, even though she was frustrated that she couldn’t do much to make a difference.

Her confidence was growing. 

‘What’s the play?’ Henrietta asked Harold directly, without waiting for him to start. He appreciated directness and action, and everyone was aware they always needed to jump straight in. 

‘Increased security for Daily Prophet offices, and the Editor has agreed to employ private security. You need to talk to Moody about Auror support, especially for homes, but he’s going to push back,’ the Minister replied gruffly. 

‘Done. I will push him for some alternative if Aurors can’t be spared. Perhaps an interview with tips on home protections?’ 

Harold nodded in agreement. 

‘A joint statement with the Editor about the freedom of the press wouldn’t go amiss,’ Hermione added in clipped tones.

Henrietta nodded and hummed. ‘They cannot be seen to be cowed. ’ 

‘I’ll be discussing it with the Wizengamot this afternoon. The bastards need to pass a bill on basic Muggle-born protections. They won’t, though, even with how high profile this is. Wizards first,’ the Minister added, disapproval clear in his tone.

‘One step at a time,’ Henrietta said, as she moved and motioned for Hermione to join her in leaving the office. 

Hermione very much shared the frustration, but there was no point putting effort into a battle that couldn’t be won. Half the Wizengamot were aligned with the Dark Lord, for Merlin’s sake. Her righteous anger had no place in the realism of this world. 

So she went through the motions, making floo calls, sending out memos and arranging a press conference. The day went by in a flurry of activity as it always did, and Hermione did what she could. 
   
When she got home that night, she breathed a sigh of relief. Another day where she could do very little but keep going. 

Hermione headed straight to the library to decompress, hoping to find a novel and comfy corner. She strode into the space, grabbing 'A Tale of Two Cities' and heading to her favourite spot. 

Her favourite Muggleborn was sitting in it. 

Lily was snuggled up, surrounded by heavy-looking Healing books. She was scanning the largest of them, her brow furrowed, deep in thought. Obviously catching up with studying for her Healing mastery, Hermione thought. 

If Lily were here, now was as good a time as any to make a small but significant difference. 

‘Can I interrupt you?’ Hermione asked gently, pulling up a seat opposite her. 

Lily’s eyes shot up, but she didn’t smile, as she usually would. ‘It’s about the attack, isn’t it?’

Hermione scanned the bags under her eyes and the way her shoulders slumped. Lily was clearly exhausted.  

‘It’s about what’s going to be done, which I’m sorry to say isn’t much,’ Hermione informed her dispassionately. ‘The Wizengamot blocked anything meaningful on protections, which means it’s down to individuals, unless the Order can step up…’

Lily snorted softly. ‘I’m not confident about that one. There’s a ‘lack of resources’ to help Muggleborns,’ bitterness laced in her tone. 

Hermione took in a deep breath and pushed down her fury. Bloody Albus Dumbledore and his priorities. ‘That’s disappointing, but I’m not surprised. ‘Wizards first’ is not just Pureblood prejudice. It runs deep.’ 

‘Don’t I know it. I just feel so powerless,’ Lily sighed, leaning back and slumping in her chair.

‘You’re not powerless, Lily. You cannot save everyone, but you can make a difference. I brought you some books.’

Hermione pulled out over half a dozen old texts from her bag and handed them over to Lily. 

‘Of course you did,’ Lily smiled gratefully. 

‘Detection Charms, Blood Wards, Fidelity Charms - in desperate times, some Muggle-borns might want to consider Oblivation for their family,’ Hermione listed. 

‘Oblivation? That’s extreme stuff, Hermione!’ said Lily, shocked.

Hermione's heart beat furiously in her chest, a ringing sound whistling in her ears. ‘It may just keep them alive,’ she whispered.

……………

The next evening, she, James, Lily and Sirius made their way over to Lily’s parents' house to set up the strongest wards they could manage.

What precisely that entailed was a source of conflict. Hermione had very different views from the Marauders on what was needed. In her opinion, everything in their arsenal should be used - otherwise, what was the point?

It didn’t help that Sirius had clearly had a hard day, based on his snipping and the tension rolling off his shoulders as they entered the house. 

Hermione wandered into the small, dark kitchen behind Sirius with a sense of trepidation. 

Instantly, though, she felt the wash of familiarity descend over her. She hadn’t been in a Muggle home like this for years.

She hugged her arms around herself and looked around with a soulful frown. Memories of her childhood with her Muggle parents came flooding back. The clink of teapots, the whistle of the kettle and the sound of a radio humming softly in the background. If her Mother were here, she would be singing along.

It didn’t help that the walls were covered in photographs of Lily’s late Mother. There was something heavy lingering in the space, as if the atmosphere of grief had seeped into the walls. 

‘It’s just a kitchen,’ Sirius snapped, narrowing his eyes at her. ‘There’s no need to look so uncomfortable.’ 

Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed, her chest flooding with hurt. She hated it when he looked at her like this - as if she were something prejudiced and hateful against the people that mattered the most to her. He was always so quick to judge her. ‘I’ve been in a kitchen before, for Merlin’s sake!’ 

‘Not one like this,’ Sirius muttered darkly, tapping the side of the worktop and flaring his nostrils. 

‘You have no idea where I have or haven’t been,’ she hissed back, leaning forward and rounding on him, not giving away an inch. 

Sirius stalked forward, his eyes on her glacial. ‘I think I’ve got a fair idea. Come on, James, let’s get started.’

With that, he swept out of the door, leaving James and Hermione looking on, concerned and frustrated.

‘He saw Bellatrix today,’ James explained, with a sigh.

’Ah,’ Hermione sighed, the anger in her body dissipating. Sympathy flooded through her. After all, she knew well enough how that evil Witch could affect other people with her twisted words and brutal violence. 

James's tone was unforgiving when he continued. ‘That bitch doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.’ 

Hermione hummed. It was a testament to how strongly James felt that he swore.  ‘Years of working out the buttons to push to make him blow up, I guess?’

James nodded and sighed. ‘I wish I could banish his family so he didn’t have to see them.’

‘There’s some cosy looking cells in Azkaban,’ Hermione said wryly. 

James guffawed. ‘I think you’d get on well with Moody.’

’He’s petrifying!’ 

‘So are you,’ James said with a smile. 

‘Aaawww, thanks,’ Hermione smiled. ‘So what’s the plan?’ 

‘We’ll start with the basic wards, then place the amulet in the foundations of the house. Are you going to talk to Lily’s dad about the other stuff?’ 

James's tone was distinctly uncomfortable, and Hermione understood why. Blood Magic would have made her feel nauseous once, when she naively thought it only meant letting in the darkness. Now, she knew better. It was dark, dangerous and complicated, but there was nothing as powerful as protecting those you care about through spilling your own blood. The sacrifice meant something. 

Without blood wards, Voldemort and his most loyal supporters could carve through standard wards in seconds. Blood wards were no longer legal outside of the Great Wizarding Estates, where the old families could maintain what they already had. But that put Muggleborns, and many half-bloods who didn’t own familial properties, at great risk. 

Unless they were willing to do a Fidelius Charm, which was impractical and difficult with Muggles, the risk of blood wards was worth it. 

That didn’t stop Sirius from watching like a hawk.

Hermione quickly explained what was needed to Lily’s Father, who agreed easily and allowed her to extract half a pint of his blood. She did the same with Lily, mixing their blood together and taking it to the corner of the property. 

As she lifted her wand and started chanting, she caught Sirius’s eye. His expression was stony, and his body stiff as if poised to attack, as Hermione let the blood flow into the ground.

His gaze didn’t leave hers as she moved to all full corners of the property, her cheeks heating up as she completed the ritual. 

When she finally finished, she let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes for a moment. The live wire of dark magic hummed through her veins, making her itchy and anxious.

She conjured a bowl of water and scrubbed her arms and hands, still covered in blood. Out, damn spot. Her hands were almost red raw by the time she finished. 

Sirius stood across the lawns, looking on in silent judgment, as if her actions permanently stained her.

Perhaps they had. 

She held her chin up defiantly, her nostrils flared, and eyes daring him to challenge her. There was no way she would shy away from this, even if, somewhere buried deep down now, she did understand Sirius’s complicated feelings about it. 

Hermione knew better than most that Voldemort would be able to break almost any ward - but this would take his Death Eaters some time to crack. They gave Lily’s dad a chance. 

However, she, or Sirius, felt - it was worth it. 

.............

 

Hermione approached her next meeting with Titus with trepidation.

She wasn’t expecting it to be a pleasant meeting, given the contract she’d sent back and the information he would try to extract from her, so she was almost surprised to find him smirking when she joined him for afternoon tea in the Nott family estate. 

Hermione caught on quickly. The lightness of his demeanour was an act; he just wasn’t planning on giving too much away. 

Slytherins were such hard work sometimes, she thought ruefully. Not that she could go back to conversing with Gryffindors full time now, when the stakes were far too low. The nuance and debate were just too stimulating.

He kissed her lightly on the cheek when she arrived through the Floo, guiding her through the house. ‘I hear you’ve had a trying few days.’ 

‘There’s been a lot of mess to clean up, yes,’ she smiled, squeezing his hand back gently. ‘But I did sign up for this.’ 

He led them to a parlour at the back of the house, where they both nodded at his Mother, who was stationed by the window as usual. Titus summoned an elf, who served them tea, waiting for the elf to disappear again to begin.

‘The Minister didn’t seem to have his heart in his requests for the Wizengamot on Thursday,’ Titus remarked lightly, sipping his tea. 

‘He knows there’s no legs in it,’ Hermione explained. ‘The Dark Lord’s shadow is well and truly cast over the membership, and it’s not important enough for him to play his chips on this one.’ 

 ‘And the press?’ Titus pressed.

‘More fundamental, even if resources make it hard to have a permanent Auror security force,’ Hermione offered. ‘I can’t see the press really being a problem for either side, though. They haven’t come down strongly either way on the philosophy of the Ministry or the Dark Lord, apart from on safety concerns from the wider Wizarding public.’

Titus smiled enigmatically. There was obviously something she was missing, but she doubted he’d give the information to her on a plate. She would need to do her own investigating.   

‘I did some interesting reading this week,’ Titus said lightly, changing tack.

‘Oh?’ Hermione replied, sipping her tea and pulling down her Occulmency wards, her eyes wide and innocent. She knew what was coming, but she fully intended to let him lead this one.

‘It was a marriage contract.'

Hermione hummed. 'And it was interesting, you said?' 

'There was some suggestion that the groom in question should give over all his material wealth and bodily autonomy to his wife,’ he returned, not breaking eye contact.

‘Well, that sounds terrible,’ she shot back sharply.

'I quite agree.'

‘Ludicrous really, that they would suggest such a thing. Nobody should have to receive such an insult, certainly not from their intended.’ 

‘Certainly not a Wizard.'

'Just a Wizard?' Hermione said more sharply than she intended. 

'It is an insult to his role as head of the family and provider. It should not be borne,’ Titus firmly answered. 

Pressure built in Hermione's chest, and she could feel her cheeks heating. She could not help raising her voice. ‘It should not be borne by anyone, no matter their gender and position, Titus. It’s almost as if they don’t know each other if they would suggest something that would lead to such a dent in their pride, their autonomy and their happiness.’ 

Titus smirked again, obviously happy he’d provoked a reaction. ‘What would you suggest this Wizard do?’

‘Rip it up,’ Hermione demanded, fire burning in her eyes.

‘And then…?’ Titus asked, leaning in closer to her, and tracing the outline of her body lavishly with his eyes, lingering on her reddened chest.

‘Well that’s up to him isn’t it?’ Hermione answered confidently. ‘He’s got to decide if what he’d said was really true, is it worth it? If so, only a serious attempt at compromise will do.’

‘Oh, she’s absolutely worth it,’ he purred, pulling her closer and tracing her collarbone. ‘Just to see her flush here when he gets a rise out of her, and think about all the other ways he could make that happen,’ he continued. 

As he did so, he bent his head into the crook of her neck, gently ghosting it with his lips. Hermione let out a little gasp and a shiver.  

Hermione closed her eyes and took a beat to feel the delicious sensations he was pulling from her. The low buzz of something that felt like desire was too intoxicating to resist. 

But like a flash, she remembered herself. She was Hermione Potter, formally courting in a Pureblood's home. Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself upright. 

‘Well then, he has some serious work to do then,’ she replied primly, holding out her hand for him to kiss. Titus did so with glee.

Chapter 43: II: VIII

The guerilla war Voldemort was waging often didn’t feel real. 

Days and weeks went past when it was business as usual, albeit with telltale signs of fear on the street, from shops boarding up early, pubs unnaturally empty, and families scurrying along as fast as they could to avoid unseen attacks. 

Although Hermione heard about the impact through briefings, they were so impersonal. Talking about injuries day in and day out made them seem somewhat mundane. It was nothing like her first experience of war, where the harsh realities hit her full force. 

Hermione was sitting at her desk one February morning, staring out the Ministry's charmed windows. Despite the chill in the air, the sun was high in the sky outside, beaming through the glass as if it were a glorious midsummer's day. Hermione's mood did not match it.

'You look pensive today,' Henrietta commented as she sat down at the desk opposite.

Hermione's eyes shot up as she shook herself from her trance. 'Sorry, I was miles away.' 

'Anywhere good?' Henrietta smiled gently. 'It didn't look like it from the look on your face.'

'There's not much good news to dwell on, is there?'

Henrietta hummed. 'No, there isn't. This job has always been about crisis management, but the last couple of years have been... tough, I suppose.'

Hermione frowned, tapping her fingers together, trying to formulate the right words. 'I just thought we'd be able to do more. It seems crazy that we seem to have so few ways of predicting what's going to happen. There are times when it feels like the Minister is totally blind.'    

A small, almost pained smile spread across Henrietta's face. 'I was wondering when you'd start questioning things...' 

'How do you mean?'

'Well, every intern and assistant who starts here begins with idealism in their eyes- wanting to change things. Then the realities wear them down. I've got to say, though, dear, you have struck me as the least naive new starter we've ever had.'

Hermione snorted. 'I suppose I should take that as a complement.' 

'You should! Do you really think we can change things, now you've seen the way things work?'

Hermione's eyes darted about, contemplating what Henrietta was saying. The truth was, she could make a difference, knowing what she knew. It didn't matter, though. In the long term, things would always remain the same. 'No,' she whispered finally. 

Henrietta gave her a rueful smile. 'But we can make things marginally better.' 

Hermione nodded, hoping the pain and longing were not completely written all over her face. 'Yes, we can do that. It's just amazing that until the Wizengamot changes, it will only ever be marginal.'

'Well, you're young, with the right name - you never know, you might actually be able to change that in a decade or so...' 

Hermione smiled, hiding the pain behind that suggestion. Reforming a corrupt government was not her focus, despite the temptation. 'Sounds like the type of dastardly plan I could get behind.' 

At least, Hermione mused, she had access to intelligence.

Even better, she had another source that was far more useful in her mission: the Pureblood Social Circuit.

Nothing of consequence was directly discussed at fundraisers, garden parties and afternoon teas hosted by the Pureblood Elite. But hints were regularly dropped about where the danger might appear. Nothing was more important than protecting the lives of the Sacred 28 after all. 

Hermione was taking tea with Narcissa one morning, admiring her work on the Malfoy Orangery, when she mentioned her desire to visit Place Cachee, the exclusive Parisian shopping district, the following weekend.

Narcissa sipped her tea carefully, her eyes cast down. ‘It’s not the ideal time for it at the moment, I believe.’

‘I see,’ Hermione hummed, her shoulders sagging with disappointment. Narcissa had clearly got a warning not to travel there, which meant attacks must be imminent. There was a rare bookseller in Paris she wanted to visit, who might have a text that might help her improve her Parseltongue. ‘That is a shame.’

‘It is,’ Narcissa agreed. ‘I had hoped to visit my Atelier for some unmentionables,’ Narcissa blushed.

Hermione gave her a sly smile. ‘I’m sure Lucius would appreciate you in English lace, or nothing at all…’ 

Narcissa gave a mock tut and a sly smile of her own. ‘Stop. He’s working very hard at the moment, I’ll have you know.’

‘And I’m sure he needs to relax.’ 

Narcissa let out an exasperated laugh. ‘You are incorrigible sometimes, Hermione. I just hope he and the others who’ve joined the cause can make a difference, including your betrothed.’ 

Hermione let out a tired sigh. ‘Not betrothed right now. We don’t even have a contract.’

‘Well, let me know if you need help with that. I know some very useful lawyer types.’ 

‘I might take you up on that. Titus is busy too, but I would like to at least have a draft this year.’ 

‘Indeed. Well, I’m not sure I can help with winning the cause and freeing up his time, but I can help with the details.’

Hermione gave her a knowing smile. ‘I wouldn’t bet against you. Perhaps if you were in charge, we wouldn’t be so restricted.’ 

Hermione left the Malfoys that day, safe from the personal threat of getting caught up in attacks and laden with knowledge that she could do very little about it. The fact that she knew so much more than the Ministry made her feel deeply uncomfortable.

Hermione pushed down the guilt before it ate her up.  

 

.............

 

Being about to anticipate attacks lulled Hermione into a false sense of security.  

Hermione knew the real war would come to her soon enough, but being safe, fed and warm had dulled her senses.

It had been years now since she’d smelt the metallic tang of blood in the air, heard the ringing in her ears of impossibly loud voices and felt the after effects of Cruciatus Curses that shock bodies down to the bone.

It was only when the war arrived closer to home that all those memories flooded back. 

Hermione was having a lazy Saturday afternoon in the library, doing some ‘light’ reading on the origins of unforgivable Curses, when war arrived at her door. 

Before that, she was only vaguely aware of the impact of Order skirmishes. Both James and Lily had arrived at the manor with bruises on occasion, but they were no different from Quidditch injuries, really. 

Given Hermione was not an Order member and Euphemia's skills, there was no expectation that Hermione would be involved in the healing of any injuries. Knowledge of who was being treated would compromise the Order's policy of absolute secrecy. 

So when Sirius arrived through the Floo clutching a deathly pale Peter Pettigrew, it came as a shock. 

Hermione barrelled into the room, taking in the scene before her.

Sirius looked battered, bruised and clearly hurt, but it was Peter who was by far the worst. His eyes were closed, his body so limp that Sirius had to prop him up. 

‘Safehouse is compromised,’ Sirius rasped out, stuttering out his words as if in serious pain. 

Hermione took in a sharp breath, watching like a hawk as Sirius strained his body to keep Peter upright.  

‘You need to treat Pete first, he’s barely got a pulse,’ Sirius added in a broken voice. 

Hermione took another deep, calming breath. She had saved many people she wasn’t close to in the war, but no one she hated as viscerally as she hated this boy, or the man he would become. She couldn’t believe she was considering doing this.

Seeing Sirius’s panicked face, though, it was clear she had no choice. 

‘Lay him out here,’ she directed at the nearest Chaise Lounge, pulling out her wand and watching dispassionately as Sirius heaved Peter's body onto it and let out a pained breath as he set him down. 

Hermione went to work immediately, swishing her wand across Peter's limp body with diagnostic spells.

It was not good. Several bones were broken, and his heart would need restarting. 

‘Hold him down,’ Hermione ordered sternly.

Sirius complied without question, his eyes wide and fearful.

Hermione started applying shocks to Peter’s chest, concentrating systematically on what needed to be done to keep this body alive. Three beats. Another shock. Check his heart rate. 

Time seemed to stretch on infinitely, as she repeated her work again and again.  

It took five attempts, but his heartbeat finally returned. It was a weak pulse, but strong enough to put him out of the woods.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and poured pain-relieving medication down Peter's throat. After Peter unconsciously gulped it down, she set off monitoring charms glowing above him to make sure they were alerted to any change in his condition.

Hermione and Sirius both leaned back against the side of the sofa in relief, both breathing heavily and staring out into the distance. 

After a minute of silence, Hermione turned to Sirius and realised he was not in the best shape.

‘How did you drag him here with a broken leg?!’ she scolded, sitting up and pointing her wand at the offending injury as she went to work treating it.

‘I’ve had worse,’ he tried lightly, but it didn’t quite come off that way as she snapped his bones back into place roughly and he let out a roar. ‘Bloody hell, Witch, you could have warned me!’

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ she replied, lifting his shirt to treat the bruises around his ribs. She knew basic field medicine, but she could never claim to have a soft healing touch. 

Finally, she reached the gash on his eyebrow.

‘I thought I might keep that one.’ Sirius said. ‘Makes me look rugged. I’ve been told I’m too pretty…’

Hermione snorted. ‘You’re right. Those delicate looks are getting you nowhere. Perhaps I should take the whole eyebrow, add a few lines, recede your hairline a bit as well…’ 

‘Don’t you bloody dare!’ he scoffed. 

‘Are you saying you couldn’t get any action looking 20 years older?’ she teased, raising her eyebrows in challenge. 

‘I shall age like a fine wine, kitten, and you know it,’ he flirted right back.

The unfortunate thing was, Hermione knew he was right. 

‘And yet your massive ego will always let you down,’ she smiled sweetly. 

He barked out a laugh. ‘It’s not ego if it’s accurate, kitten, and most importantly, it doesn’t seem to bother the line of young ladies beating down my door.’

‘Oh, do excuse me, I am in awe of your man-whoring skills,’ she replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Do let me know when you actually bag someone with any standards. Oh no! That won't be possible, they know where you’ve been…’  

Their squabbling was interrupted by a groan from Peter, reminding them that they were, in fact, in the middle of a serious situation.

Hermione got back down to business. ‘I’ll get him to a guest room. I presume you have someone you need to alert?’

Sirius gave a strange look that she could not quite place. One of uncertainty, sadness and perhaps longing. Either way, those sharp silver eyes drew her into his orbit as they always did, and she struggled to let out a breath.  

After a brief moment, though, he nodded, dusted himself off and exited sharply through the Floo. 

As she stared down at Peter, the panic hit Hermione again like a wave. 

War was well and truly here, and the bodies would start piling up. 

 

..............

Peter stayed at the Potters for a few days, and though his vitals improved, his deathly pale parlour did not. 

Hermione recognised the symptoms. It was fear. 

She was checking on his progress one evening, while James sat in the visitor's chair, trying to entertain his friend with the Quidditch scores and commentary. 

‘I don’t think I can do it, Prongs,’ Peter whispered so quietly it was hard to catch. 

‘What? Well, we don’t have to go and see the Cannons next month if you don’t like it. They’re having an off-season anyway…’ James replied, completely missing the point. 

‘The war, James. I can’t do it,’ Peter butt in, voice still small. 

‘I’m not sure we have a choice in that, Wormtail,’ James said seriously. 

‘But the Order… that’s something we signed up too… and I’m not cut out for it.’

‘Come on, Pettigrew, you know what’s at stake. I know you, you’re a Gryfindor, and you were put in that house for a reason. Think of what you’ve done for Remus, how much you’ve helped us over the years. You always do the right thing,’ James replied confidently.

The look on Peter’s face suggested he might even just believe it. But Hermione could see the subtler signs.

The weeds of doubt were twisting around his heart.

Chapter 44: II: IX

‘We’re going to the vault,’ James announced to Hermione over breakfast one bright February morning, looking strangely determined. 

‘The vault?’ Hermione enquired, taking a last bite of her toast and sipping her tea. 

‘Gringotts. This morning. Get yourself together, we leave in five minutes,’ he replied, looking as tense as she’d ever seen him.

‘What is the rush? Are you planning a robbery?’ She probed lightly. 

‘Impossible,’ James said gruffly. ‘Gringotts is impenetrable. Now get moving.’

‘I beg to differ,’ Hermione replied darkly.  

James shot her the dirtiest look she had ever seen from him.

‘Alright, Mr Stresshead, I’ll get my coat,’ Hermione huffed, taking a step back. 

Hermione didn’t dally. She cleared the plates quickly - much to the Potter Elves' dismay, she never got out of the Muggle habit of tidying up after herself. She’d retrieved her coat and stood in the Floo Parlour no more than five minutes later. 

James was swift behind her, picking up the Floo Powder and shouting ‘Gringotts!’ into the grate without so much as a backwards glance. 

They walked into the Gringotts lobby in silence. Hermione's eyes cast over the unmistakable marble floor and tall desk of the atrium, raising her head imperiously at the hard stare of the Goblins surrounding them.

She hated this place. Memories always came flooding back, of that horrible day she had to impersonate Bellatrix, grab that awful cup and the nauseous feeling when she rode the Dragon out of here. Hermione was always convinced the Goblins could somehow tell what she'd done. 

Still, James's strange behaviour shocked her out of her discomfort. He barked orders at the Goblins tersely as they went. ‘The Potter Vault. We don’t have time to delay!’  

Hermione stared on with wide eyes, perplexed by his mood. The furrowed brow, stiff posture and frankly, rudeness, were so unlike him. 

So she did her sisterly duty and tried to cheer him up a bit. Distraction had always helped Harry when he was in a mood, so it was worth a try. ‘Polyjuice here,' she said, pointing at the front desk. 'You’d have to have stolen the wand of your target already, and get the acting down with a bit of practice, of course. If it didn’t work, it would have to be Imperio…’

‘What are you on about, Hermione?’ James snapped, tapping his feet impatiently as a familiar Goblin ambled towards them. Griphook. Hermione sighed. Did she really need so many reminders?  

Taking a deep breath, she focused on distracting James. ‘I’m proving a break in is possible, of course. I would have thought a Marauder would be up for the challenge,’ she replied cheekily, giving him a poke.

Griphook gave them a sharp look, but kept his thoughts to himself. ‘This way, Mr Potter, Miss Potter.’ 

‘Alright, I’ll bite, what next?’ James whispered tensely, boarding the cart that would take them down to the vaults, and offering his hand to help Hermione in.

The cart lurched forward, and soon they were whizzing down to the deepest level of the vaults. For a moment, the roar of the cart whizzing down was too loud to continue. It slowed a little as they got to the entrance to the vaults.

‘Well, now we’re in trouble,’ she pointed at the waterfall ahead. ‘It’s the Thief’s Downfall.’

‘Damn it,’ he replied dryly.

‘Don’t worry, there’s always a Plan B,’ Hermione practically sang, pointing out a spot in the distance, where they were due to stop. ‘You’d put the Imperio back on here.’ 

‘Sensible,’ James countered happily, getting into it now. 

The cart lurched to a halt, winding them both. They quickly disembarked, taking in the dark surroundings. Hermione felt a keen sense of Deja Vu as they walked past the entrance that would take them to the Ukrainian Ironbelly. Hermione could just about make out its tail and the warm glow of fire next to it. 

‘Now for fun with the Dragon,’ Hermione replied serenely.

James' eyes widened. ‘Brillant! Now you’re speaking my language.’ 

‘We’d know you have to shake the rattle to make sure he doesn’t burn us to death, of course. The poor creature cowers when he sees it.’

‘Ahh, you softy!’

Hermione continued primly. ‘Now it’s just a case of using Griphook’s hand for the door, grabbing what we need, and riding the Dragon out.’

James burst out laughing with glee. ‘‘Riding the dragon?! Hermione, you are something else.’

‘It’s a win-win,’ she shrugged, as Griphook found the door to the Potter Vault and gestured for them to enter. ‘That Dragon deserves to be free, and so do we.’ 

James stared at her in awe, his steps slowing as he walked into the vault behind her. ‘It’s the ultimate prank, Lady Potter. I think if you pulled that off, we might have to make you an honorary Marauder.’ 

‘I might hold you to that,’ she grinned, giving him a side hug. ‘Now, can you tell me what in the name of Merlin we’re doing here, and what got you quite so tense, please?’

She surveyed the Potter vault for clues, finally landing on James' face, who had the warmest grin she’d ever seen on his face, his eyes watery and sparkling. 

Suddenly, the penny dropped. It was about this time that James would take the ultimate leap and pop the question to Lily. 

‘James…’ she cried happily. ‘Are we picking out an engagement ring?!’

‘Yes, we are!’ he beamed.

Hermione jumped into his arms and hugged him properly. It was a hard, bruising hug that she refused to let go of for a good minute.

Finally, she jumped down and dusted off his coat, taking a breath and pulling herself together.  ‘Alright you big girls blouse, let’s get to it!’ Hermione demanded.  

They spent a happy hour perusing the hereditary jewels on offer, from ornate to simple, each embedded with their own unique Charms. Hermione had a dicey moment with a 400-year-old specimen, which retained Muggle-repelling Charms, but soon recovered from the minor burn.

In the end, they chose three simple options to run by Marlene, who knew Lily a lot better than Hermione.  

‘Now comes the hard part. We’ll have to see if she says yes...’ James said nervously as they exited the bank.

‘Don’t worry. I’ve got a good feeling about it,’ Hermione beamed.

 

..............

 

Sirius took a deep breath in, enjoying the lush smells of the forest. 

More importantly, he was following Prongs, and it wasn't for an assignment for the Ministry or a mission for the Order. There has been so little time just to hang out with his mates. He'd known on some level that the war would make things different on the outside, but it was frustrating all the same. Had there been no war, they could have been spending their weekends in pubs, at gigs or just spending time hanging out together. 

Instead, he spent most of his free time spying for the Order. The war was both more mundane and more horrific than he expected. Hours upon hours of waiting tested his patience to the limit, until an unexpected near miss of some horrific spell or another seemed to come out of nowhere.

Or the worst, seeing the aftermath of rape, torture and murder of unsuspecting Muggles. The sick fuckers. Those images stayed with him long after he left the scene of the crime. 

He could see the effect on others around him. Those who'd been in the war for the longest were battle-hardened and weary - like Fabian and Gideon Prewitt, who'd been a few years above them at Hogwarts and were full of mischief then, but were now serious and cynical.

His friends were also changing. Peter was getting more nervous, Remus more insular, and James more and more serious. 

It felt like they were growing up far too fast. 

James stopped in front of him as they reached a small clearing.

Sirius walked into it and stared at the small waterfall and pool, confused. It was a beautiful night, the water was bathed in moonlight, and the plants in the Forbidden Forest around them were lush and green. A setting ripe for romance. 

The question was why James had dragged him there. ‘Well, this is, errr, romantic, Prongs. I didn’t know you felt this way about me…’ 

James snorted and punched him in the shoulder. ‘It’s for Lily, you idiot.’ 

Sirius grinned and kept up with the teasing tone. 'I’d suggest bringing her instead then…?’

‘I’ve got to set it up, haven’t I? Puts up some wards, setting up a candlelit dinner, see if the fireflies will join us. I want to make sure it's perfect...’ 

‘Perfect for what?’ 

James practically jumped up and down, grinning maniacally as he pulled out a small jewellery box from his lapel. He opened it with a flourish to reveal the sparkling ring within. 

Sirius took a gasp in. ‘Noooooo,’ he whispered. This was a Muggle engagement ring. It could be nothing else. 

‘Yes!’ James cried gleefully. 

‘Mate,’ Sirius replied with a slow spreading smile and an incredulous laugh. ‘I’m just surprised it took you so long.’  

‘Could have done it in the third year. I’ve been very bloody restrained.’ 

‘I’m pretty sure you did at some point...’

‘And got hexed for my trouble. Didn’t stop me being head over heels, though.’ 

Sirius hummed, trying to hide his scepticism, but it was clearly written all over his face. James could always read him like a book. ‘You were so young, then…’

James looked at him seriously, his expression hard as he shrugged. ‘Yeah, it was different then, just a crush. It’s so much more now. I want this, you know. The life, the family, with her. I’ve wanted it for a long time...’ 

Sirius clapped James on the back, giving him a wry smile and tried to explain his confusion. ‘Yeah, I know. It’s just all a bit alien to me, mate. How did you even know?’ 

James shrugged. ‘It’s been going on for so long, I don’t know if I could tell you. There is a point where you’re just so far gone that there’s no other option. Lily's just my person, and that’s it.’ 

Sirius felt a strange sensation in his chest as his friend spoke. A pressure, warmth that was just on the right side of pain. It felt like something sentimental, a longing that could not be restrained. What would it be to have someone like that? 

‘You’re such a sap,’ he managed to choke out, pushing the feeling down. They were far too overwhelming to deal with. 

James just beamed. ‘Nothing wrong with that. I’m not sure you’ll be quite so happy with hooking up with random Witches forever…’

‘It’s working so far,’ Sirius shrugged, feigning nonchalance. He didn’t add the rest. It was working for now, in war, where connection was fleeting and knowing who to trust was a matter of life or death. 

‘One day, sappiness might just creep up on you.’  

 

..........

 

Hermione, Marlene and the Marauders sat in the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for Lily and James to join them.

They all knew, of course. James was awful at secrets. The question was what Lily’s answer would be. 

Hermione couldn’t imagine saying yes to a marriage that young as a Muggle-born, but Lily and James’ circumstances were different. They were perfect for each other, clearly deeply in love - and the threat of war meant that life had to be lived now, just in case the worst happened. 

Peter was eyeing the door with suspicion, Remus’s leg would not stop bouncing, and Sirius was pacing furiously.

Marlene and Hermione shared a look of incredulity at their ridiculous behaviour.

‘Boys! Just stop, there’s no point worrying,’ Marlene chastised. ‘What’s the point of being in the pub with you all if you’re just going to brood. It's hardly entertaining...’ she huffed.

‘Do something useful and get us a drink, Sirius,’ Hermione chimed in.

‘Why me?!’ Sirius cried. ‘It’s definitely not my…’ 

But he was cut off by the sight of Lily and James coming through the door, positively beaming. They were all stunned into a happy silence.

Lily flashed her ring finger and James barrelled towards them, pulling Sirius in for a bear hug. 

She had said yes. 

The laughter and joy that followed was infectious. Marlene squelled and pulled Lily in for a hug, and the Marauders roared with delight. 

When the congratulations died down, they sat, Lily and James practically glowing and wrapped in each other. Hermione listened intently to the story of their proposal, hungry for every little detail. Tears of happiness welled in her eyes as she took in just how much this meant to them. 

James and Lily both deserved the world. Hermione wished so desperately that Harry could see this, and know how much his parents adored each other.

It hit her then that her happiness wasn’t just for Harry, it was for herself. 

No matter how much she’d told herself she’d keep her distance, she hadn’t really. They were her family too. 

‘You did good, cousin,’ Hermione beamed as James pulled her in for a hug. 

She closed her eyes and said a little prayer that they would get more moments like this together, for the days, weeks, months, years and decades that followed.

She had to make it happen.

Notes:

A slightly shorter update this week as my August has been busy. Thank you all to have kudos, commented and are reading along - I really wasn’t expecting over 300 subscribers for this!

Chapter 45: II: X

March saw the big society wedding Slytherin house had been looking forward to or dreading depending on who you spoke to; the Goyle-Parkinson match. 

It was set to be a dark and gaudy affair, full of smug self congratulation which masked the undercurrent of despair from the bride and groom. For if there was ever an intended couple who despised each other more, Hermione had not seen it.

‘She is absolutely unbearable,’ Narcissa moaned, flopping down without her usual degree of elegance on a Chaise Lounge beside Hermione at their weekly afternoon tea. 

‘Yes, well she was never going to make it easy was she?’ Hermione replied, trying to hide her smirk behind her teacup. It was very unlike Narcissa to express such a negative opinion so stridently.

‘There is nothing wrong with her dress though! Why does she insist on getting it altered days before the wedding?’ Narcissa ranted.  

‘She’s got to find something to distract herself from who she’s marrying hasn’t she?’ Hermione chuckled. 

‘Yes, I suppose, she’s not been at all lucky in that regard,’ Narcissa sighed. ‘ I must rise above it and remember just how privileged I am.’

Hermione hummed lightly. ‘How is life with Lucius?’ You look happily settled.’

Narcissa could not hide the blush of her cheeks behind her teacup. Her tone was sly when she replied ‘I have absolutely no complaints. He is very attentive.’

Hermione eyes twinkled in response. ‘As he should be. I’m glad he’s valuing you ‘cissa, you deserve it.’ 

‘I do, don’t I?’ she sang lightly, making them both giggle. ‘I think you may find Titus’s attentions are similarly engaging.’ 

Hermione only tried a little to hide her smug grin. ‘He does give that impression does he? We have a long way to go before we get there, and I am determined not to lose my head.’ 

‘Just be careful you give him something to work with. You don’t want to end up with Rabaston instead… or Merlin forbid, Crabbe.’

Hermione snorted. ‘Narcissa, please don’t make me break decorum and throw up this delicious tea!’ 

‘Alright, alright, I'm just teasing,’ Narcissa smiled. ‘I would help you though, if it didn’t work out. There are still one or two eligible men out there. Evan Rosier certainly looks at you with great interest. I think you’d do well with Reg too, if Walbarga wasn’t such a blocker to any sensible match.’ 

Hermione tried to school her expression. It wouldn’t do to give away that she did consider Evan a good second choice - she didn’t need to go there -yet. It was important to show loyalty to Titus right now. 

Regulus, was more complicated. He wasn’t an option for marriage, knowing what she knew about how early in the war he went to that Merlin forsaken cave. The thought of it made feel distinctly nauseous. 

Two years of getting to know Regulus had made her soft. She missed his intellect and sharp wit now he was at Hogwarts and she out in the world. In another life, in different circumstances, she thought they could be true friends.

‘Thank you, but I really hope I won’t need it,’ Hermione replied, touched that Narcissa was on her side. ‘How is Reg by the way, have you heard from him? He seems a bit subdued in his letters.’

‘Well he is taking his NEWTs far too seriously in my opinion for a future Head of House. I understand there are certain expectations on him to be instrumental in spreading the cause at Hogwarts this year,’ Narcissa explained.

She did not need to fill in the gaps. The Blacks were pushing Regulus hard to impress the Dark Lord it seemed. He must now be well on the pathway to taking the Dark Mark.

‘Hmm, I see. He doesn’t have the same support Titus, Rabastan, Winston and Severus had in each other I suppose,’ Hermione mused. 

‘No, the quality of Slytherins is not quite as high. Next year things should improve.’

‘Or potentially, the cause will be won,’ Hermione countered, fighting down the rising bile in her throat again.

‘Let’s drink to that,’ Narcissa smiled, clinking her teacup with Hermione’s.     

……..

 

‘Do you yield, kitten,’ Sirius purred, as he held Hermione’s hand behind her back and wand at her throat. 

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her body and making her hyper aware. Nevermind the warmth of him seeping into her back, the rich spicy scent of sandalwood or the hot breath on her neck. She would not give him the satisfaction of being distracted. 

‘Never,’ she managed to croak out, as she dug her nails into his flesh and slammed her foot into his Achilles Tendon. He jerked back slightly, giving her the room she needed to break free from his hold. 

Scrambling back towards the treeline of the woods at Potter Manor, she held her wand up high and watched the slow grin spread across his face, his eyes alight with delight. 

It was the first time in their weekly duelling practice sessions, that James had put Hermione and Sirus together. It was clearly a mistake. Based on the previous hour of explosive power (him), semi-illegal hexes (her) and sheer creativity (both of them); Hermione wasn’t sure the trees in the wood would survive.  

‘Your move then,’ he chuckled, bowing with annoying grace to give her the floor.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. The vicious desire to hex him in the balls flashed through her mind. What she would give to take him down a peg or two. 

It would never work though. Sirius’s reactions were just too quick. Watching him duel was like watching artistry - the sheer force of his magical power combined with endless reserves of creativity took her breath away. She never knew what he would do next. 

Staggering to her feet, she took in a deep cleansing breath. She forgot herself. Sirius couldn’t predict her either. He should be the one who was infuriated. 

Tilting her head, she held his gaze and whispered an incantation. Sommomora. The Waking Daydream.   

Sirius’s eyes glazed over, his mouth falling open as he took in the scene around him. Right now he would be seeing a beautiful waterfall on a lush summers day. Naked Veelas would be frolicking in the water, catching his eye and beckoning him to join them. 

Hermione knew it wouldn’t last, she just needed to get close enough to deliver the final blow.

She bound towards him, watching as he threw his head back in laughter, cast a shield charm and pulled down his Occlumency walls to clear the vision. 

But at that point though, Hermione was behind him, wand held high and ready to strike.

As fast as she could, she barrelled towards him, casting a stinging hex. 

With the grace of a ballerina Sirius turned, throwing his torso backwards to dodge the hex and threw an Incarcerous back at her. 

He reached towards her as the curse hit, pushing her backwards and watching as the ropes swung around her body, until she hit the back of a tree.

Caging her in with his larger frame, he held her firm while she struggled, kicked and tried to bite as the ropes tightened. 

Being restrained kicked in her fight or flight impulses, but it also awakened something else. The feeling of his body engulfing her, his dark eyes booring into her as if he had her at his mercy made her skin come alive. That awareness, of something more, something primal was intoxicating.  

Still, she would not give in to whatever power he held over her.

Escape, the feverish voice of her war-ravaged subconsiousness begged. Maybe it would not have been enough to resist this pull, for the temptation to give in and feel was powerful. His smug grin of triumph boiled her blood and tipped her over the edge, though.  

‘Do you yield?’ he whispered, his voice low and gravelly. 

Sirius had made a fatal mistake. Hermione still had hold of her wand, and was using it to burn through the ropes. Had this been a life or death situation, she would have feigned helplessness, but he riled her up so much she could resist wiping the smile off his face. 

She jabbed the wand into his stomach and set off another Stinging Hex.  

Sirius yelped and let out a loud roar, which turned into a booming laugh as he grasped onto his stomach. It not before he sent out another spell to tightened the ropes around her.

‘Enough!’ James roared from the treeline. ‘Whatever weird… stuff…. that you two are doing, it’s enough.’ 

Hermione took in her adopted brother’s disturbed expression, and rolled her eyes.

Sirius merely shrugged, held up his hands, swishing his wand to loosen the ropes around Hermione.  

 ‘You fight like a tomcat,’ Sirius panted, his eyes alight and dancing. 

‘We’re supposed to be fighting for survival, aren’t we?’ she shot back falling to her knees and letting out short, sharp breaths. 

Sirius gave her a strange look. ‘One of these days, you’ll yield. I’d wager next week…’ 

‘Doubtful,’ Hermione shot back. ‘And not just because I’ll be at Pernilla’s wedding…’ 

Sirius jaw tensed, and his body stilled. ‘The soon to be Mrs Goyle?’

Hermione hummed, avoiding eye contact. 

Sirius let out a huff, turning towards the Manor and strolling off without looking back. ‘Watch out for snakes in the grass,’ he spat as he went. 

……

The wedding itself took place in the biggest storm the country had seen for years. The winds howled and the rain lashed down, beating against the windows of the Goyle Ballroom, as if railing against the match. 

It didn’t stop proceedings. Less than half an hour after most of the guests were seated, Pernilla Parkinson became Pernilla Goyle. No-one looked happy about it, even if it was officially an advantageous match. 

That didn’t stop the cream of Pureblood society making the most of the event, the champagne flowed, gossip was heard and deals were made. 

The crowd was distinctly darker than at Malfoy’s, with Euphemia and Fleamont declining, and Hermione ‘chaperoned’ by Narcissa, as she was now married. This was a benefit for her future freedom in Pureblood society, but it also left her feeling much more exposed. 

Titus was ever the gentleman, offering her his hand to guide her to her seat. He looked extremely handsome in his dark green robes, if a little tired. Despite his dedication to the cause, and her mixed feeling towards him, Hermione couldn’t help but be concerned. 

‘You look like you might have been working too hard,’ Hermione suggested gently as they sat down together. 

‘There is much to do for the cause,’ he sighed. ‘It will get better though. Those who doubted me are beginning to see what I have to offer.’ 

She presumed this means Bellatrix had been pushing him, either in training or real life missions, but he’d finally managed to impress her. 

‘I don’t doubt it,’ she remarked confidently, placing her hand lightly on his knee, her eyes still narrowed with concern. 

He smiled happily, reassured that she was behind him. ‘I think then, Hermione, it is time for me to place my trust in you more. Would you care for an audience with my father?’ 

She nodded, and smiled back, trying to show more confidence than she felt.

For Tywin Nott had a reputation. He was known for his strength, candor and unyielding temper. It was a temperament that his eldest son and heir, Tiberius had inherited, along with a love of the Dark Arts. Titus was positively soft in comparison. 

After the ceremony Hermione let Titus guide her to a side parlour, where the looming form of Tywin Nott was waiting, his older brother Tiberius at his side. Hermione was not one to be cowered, and entered the room head held high, bowing politely. 

‘Well I can see where your interest lies then, Titus,’ Tywin Nott barked sharply, his eyes looking her up and down as if she was a piece of prize meat, not bothering with a greeting. 

‘Not if you don’t speak to her you won’t father. You need to know her mind,’ Titus replied firmly.

‘And what’s in that pretty little brain of yours sweetheart?’ Tiberius spat cruelly. ‘Planning your next ball? Which silks to buy? I hear you’ve spent far too much time with the Black and Parkinson girls.’

Merlin, what Hermione would give to whip her wand out and wipe the smug look off his face. It wasn’t the diplomatic approach, but she was sorely tempted. 

Taking a deep breath, she steady her nerves to play the game. ‘Malfoy and Goyle, sir. They are lately married, of course,’ Hermione said serenely, keeping her head up and eye contact strong.

‘I doubt that will stop their idiocy,’ Tiberius spat. 

Hermione’s reply was tart. ‘The conversations of women may seem beneath you, but they are not without merit. I wouldn’t know Malfoy’s plans to expand his business interests in the Highlands had I not met with Narcissa yesterday.’

This was important news for Notts. They controlled a valuable creature reserve in the area, where potion ingredients were harvested. Any encroachment on this land would affect business. 

Tywin Nott regarded her more carefully, giving nothing away. ‘You are a Potter,’ he remarked. 

‘There is very little I can do about that, sir. Until I marry, of course,’ Hermione replied.

‘My son tells me you are far from stupid. You must know you would be under suspicion,’ Tywin said, his strong voice ringing out through the room.

Hermione raised her chin, her back straight and unyeilding. ‘On the contrary, sir, my name puts me in a valuable position. I would not be so close to the Minister, had I not been Fleamont’s daughter. From what I can see, the Dark Lord is fully aware that the cause will not only be won in the open, but in the shadows.’ 

‘That is a dangerous game to be playing, on both sides. How can we be certain of your commitment to the cause?’ Tywin demanded, stalking closer towards her. 

‘I have absolutely no uncertainty,’ Hermione replied confidently, holding his gaze. ‘I have seen firsthand through my family, how Dumbledore has manipulated and gaslighted the Wizarding World. I do not want to live in a world where my magic is restricted, where my customs die out. It’s too important. Your son is also not stupid, he would not be investing this time in me, if he hadn’t seen that.’ 

‘Pretty words,’ Tywin scoffed. There was passion and venom in his tone when he continued. ‘How far would you be prepared to go for the cause though? Would you be prepared to betray your family? To kill?’ 

Hermione sniffed and paused, weighing up her potential Father in Law’s words. ‘No,’ she conceded.

Tywin gave a knowing hum and tilted his head in triumph, as if he had her measure.

But he did not. 

Hermione stalked forward as she continued. ‘But I won’t have to. Bellatrix stands alone as a female soldier in this war, sir. I have more to offer to your son and to the cause than to be a society bride, I can offer my skill and more importantly, information. Not all those in war have to get their hands dirty.’ 

‘That is for the Dark Lord to decide, Miss Potter,’ Tywin muttered, straightening his spine. It was clear she was dismissed.

‘Of course,’ she said, bowing her head and curtseying politely.

Chapter 46: II: XI

Hermione heard high pitched laughter when she arrived back through the floo at Potter Manor on a warm April evening. 

It had been a challenging day at the Ministry. 

The Death Eaters were making headway with the Werewolves, and six attacks had taken place the previous evening, including two children. Greyback was the clear culprit, but there were signs that he now had at least half a dozen allies. His pack was growing, and it was another headache for the Minister, and therefore her team, to deal with. 

Harry had once told Hermione that he was convinced she would be Minister of Magic one day. How that idea seemed laughable now. In this world, she was pureblood princess, a nepotism baby, albeit a clever one. No one knew her as the ‘Champion of the Downtrodden’ or the ‘Brightest Witch of her Age’. 

She had no profile to build on. Half a year working in Minister’s office had now convinced her - she wouldn’t want it anyway. Why just be a figurehead? That was all the Minister, in the current system was. The real power lay in the Wizengamot - all those heritatory seats that blocked any real signs of progress. 

Hermione didn’t dare to dream of a life ‘after’ this one. In another, better world, though, she would focus on what matter to her; family, friends, and the pursuit of knowledge. Ambition was a neccessary armour, but she would have no problem shedding it for some peace. 

Hermione was deep in this wistful longing, lumbering her tired body through the hallways when she heard the ringing of laughter again, coming  from the Back Parlour. 

Peering her head around the corner of the room. she caught the eyes of a all-too familiar Witch lounging on the sofa. She barely noticed Sirius and Euphemia. All she could see was that heart shaped face, deep brows and wild head of black curls. 

Fear flooded her veins. Her skin began to itch with the uncomfortable feeling that something was crawling all over it. It was a darkness, bred from her worst memories of the most evil witch she’d ever met. 

A sharp intake of breath followed, as Hermione’s eyes widened in shock.

She wasn’t expecting to see that Witch, here. Hermione was in no way prepared. 

‘Always nice to know when someone’s met my darling sister,’ the soft, knowing voice of the Witch said, as she stared at Hermione with interest. 

Hermione let out a breath of relief. It was not the high, cutting voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. This woman appeared at first glance to resemble her, but there were subtle differences. Her hair was a shade lighter, her curls more defined and her eyes kinder, and more open. 

The adrenaline left her system and her body began to uncurl. 

‘You must be Andromeda?’ Hermione offered her hands up in submission. Hermione had never met Narcissa and Bellatrix’s estranged sister, but she knew her story from Tonks. Cast out for the horror of falling in love with a Muggleborn. 

‘I am, ‘for my sins’ - as my Mother in Law would say,’ Andromeda smiled.

Hermione gave a sigh of relief and wandered into the room, squeezed Euphemia’s hand in greeting and then took the chair beside Andromeda. Sirius gave his usual heart-melting smirk at her and she tried not to dissolve into the chair. Damn her body and her unhelpful reactions. 

‘How is the charming Mrs Tonks?’ Sirius asked, turning to Andromeda with a teasing arch of his brow.

‘Still very opinionated,’ Andromeda said darkly. ‘And always asking about you for some reason, cousin.’    

‘I can’t help being irresistibly charming,’ Sirius shrugged, with a rogueish wink. 

Hermione snorted, taking the tea Euphemia offered her gratefully. 

Sirius gasped in mock outrage at her response. ‘You can pretend to be immune all you like, Lady, Potter…’ 

‘It seems to come so naturally,’ Hermione shot back nonchalently. 

Andromeda’s eyes darted between them, twinkling with interest.  

‘Hush, children,’ Euphemia lightly chastised, turning to Hermione. ‘I work with Andromeda’s husband at St Mungos. And Sirius here has been doing some babysitting for their daughter when he gets the chance.’ 

Sirius laughed. ‘I’m not sure I was ever the one in charge.’ 

‘Yes, if you could send her back without wrapping her in spellotape next time, that would be helpful,’ Andromeda deadpanned.  

‘It was the only way to stop her using her Metamorphagus skills to scare off the bloody milkman!’ Sirius volleyed back easily. 

‘Can’t you get your milk delivered by an Owl like any normal person?’ Andromeda tutted. 

Sirius rolled his eyes affectionately. ‘I live in the heart of Muggle Soho, ‘Meda. How long have you been living with a Muggleborn for?’

‘Long enough to know you don’t need to give up magic where it’s better,’ Andromeda replied primly. ‘You could certainly use it to give your flat a good scrub.’ 

‘I’m not sure lack of desire to use magic is an excuse,’ Hermione said slyly. ‘Didn’t you spend years polishing trophies the Muggle way in all those detensions?’ 

Sirius gasped dramatically. ‘How could you bring that up? I was wronged, I tell you!’ 

‘You were silly enough to get caught,’ Hermione deadpanned. 

Andromeda gave a knowing chuckle. 

Euphemia cut in again, clearly trying to steer the conversation to more sensible topics. ‘Andromeda here is helping me with the fundraiser for St Mungos. She has some art to donate, and a translation of an original text on Lady Nimue in Celtic, I believe?’

Andromeda nodded. ‘It was in quite a state. The water damage was horrific. But I’ve finally got somewhere with it…’

Hermione’s eyes lit up. ‘That sounds fascinating. How early is it?’

‘I’d date in around the mid-13th century.’ 

Hermione leaned forward and gave an impressed sigh. ‘That could change everything we know… would you mind if I took a look at it?’

‘Do you seriously have a hard-on for an old book right now?’ Sirius scoffed.

‘It’s not just an old book! It’s history, and feminist history at that. Plus, Harold’s obsessed with Nimwe, so I might secure you a first bidder. Merlin knows he needs a distraction,’ she sighed leaning back on the sofa.  

‘Long day? That Minister of yours is looking more and more tired every day....’ Euphemia asked.

‘I’m not sure he’s my Minister… The day was long, but it always is. Especially whe the Wizengamot won’t listen to reason.’

Andromeda hummed. ‘What are they burying their head in the sand about now?’

‘The consequences of their ostrication of Werewolves,’ Hermione said darkly. ‘You can expect them to trust the Ministry after they’ve stripped away their rights for years.’

‘You sound positively revolutionary, dear,’ Andromeda said gleefully.  ‘Do those Slytherin friends of your know it?’

‘Only what I choose to show them,’ Hermione shot back. 

The two Witches smirked at each other and raised a teacup to the air. 

Sirius eyes darted between them, narrowing as he caught the knowing looks between them. His favourite cousin and his best friends’ sister - Two ex-Slytherins, forming an alliance. He looked like he didnt know how to feel about it.

…………

Hermione got a chance to see Regulus over the Easter break, when she joined the Ostara ritual at Grimmauld Place with Severus. 

Walburga greeted her as she arrived through the Floo. 

‘It is a pleasure to see you again Mrs Black. Thank you for welcoming me into your home,’ she said, bowing politely. 

‘I hear I am to embrace you into the fold, Miss Potter,’ Walburga spat at Hermione, standing straight as a board, with a look of disgust on her face. It was clear she was not impressed. 

Still, this Walburga was a significant improvement on the portrait Hermione remembered. It was hard to reconcile that screeching mad woman with the stoic, put together woman before her. 

‘I would be honoured if you would,’ she replied, head held high. 

‘We will see if you are worthy,’ Walburga replied tartly. 

Being worthy tonight required watching the slaughter of a family House Elf, who she presumed to be Kreacher’s mother. 

Hermione had expected a sacrifice when she’d agreed to come. Knowing the Blacks, the ritual could be nothing but dark, but this was extreme. 
She managed to breathe her way through the first part, occulding hard and remaining stock still in the outer circle surrounding the ritual dais, standing beside Severus and some distant relatives of the Blacks.

At least she wasn’t in the inner circle, filled with immediate family up close to the ‘action.’ For the ceremony was horrific from start to finished. Hermione had not seen such barbarity since the first war she had lived through, and realised half way through the ceremony, when the ‘worst’ was over, that she may be having a panic attack. 

As she watched the blood trickle from the Elf’s neck, her vision blurred and she tried everything within her power to not let her panic show. Eyes screwed shut, short breaths and ringing in her ears slowly died down as she felt Severus’s strong hand grip hers. 

When she opened her mouth she caught Bellatrix’s smirk, as if she had spotted weakness and was looking forward to crushing it. Luckily the rest of the family had not noticed Hermione’s reaction. They were too far gone in their revels, high on the adrenaline of taking a life. 

Hermione thought at that moment all must be lost. This was far too much for her to bear. How was she supposed to fit in with these people?  

Somehow though she managed to occulde and breathe; in and out; in and out. Clasping onto her shaking hands, and grasping onto Severus’s arm, she managed to let him steer her back into the house at the end of the ceremony, with one foot slowly in front of the other.  

Regulus greeted them at the door, steering Severus and Hermione to the library, sitting Hermione down and pouring her a large dram of firewhisky. 

She gulped it down gratefully, stared into the flames of the fire and taking a minute before she spoke. 

‘I need to harden myself, don’t I?’ she remarked dully. 

‘Perhaps,’ Severus drawled. ‘I think everyone who matters knows you are not without other talents though.’ 

‘You grow used to it after a while,’ Regulus tried to reassure her leaning forward stiffly a concerned look on his face. He sounded somewhat strained. Hermione wondered just how much horror Regulus had to get used to his life. It didn’t bear thinking about. 

Hermione gave a stiff nod, closed her eyes for a second, then took a deep calming breath. When she opened her eyes again they were steelly, ready to change tack. ‘How’s Hogwarts?’

‘A cesspit,’ Regulus spat out bitterly, leaning back in his chair. ‘Dumbledore expects too much, and so does everyone else… I just want to concentrate on Ancient Runes to be honest.’

Severus eyed his friend with concern. ‘You’ll sail through NEWTs. Surely there are more important things to focus on.’ 

‘Of course,’ Regulus conceded, rubbing his nose. ‘I have an assignment to prepare for the cause, I’m just exhausted.’

‘Can we help?’ Hermione pushed, leaning forward to place a hand on his arm.

Regulus looked almost pained as he whispered ‘No’. His eyes were wide and soulful, trained on Hermione as if he was pleading for her to understand something. 

Hermione took in a breath, about to probe, before Regulus jumped up quickly, taking a deep breath and re-arranging his face into a passive state.

‘Let me give you the tour,’ he said, holding out his hand to Hermione. 

She took it without question, turning to face Severus as they walked out of the door into the hallway. They shared a significant look, both aware that something was not entirely right. 

Walking around Grimmauld was a strange experience. 

Hermione kept thinking Harry would barrel down the stairs or the portraits would shout ‘Mudblood!’ at her any moment. The Black Ancestors staring down at her and Severus didn’t look impressed but at least they didn’t know who she really was. 

Regulus steered them to the Front Parlour. Hermione knew this place well. It was one of the rooms she had the displeasure of cleaning out Doxies. At it’s centre hung ‘The Black Family Tapestry’, weaving the story of Blacks of old. 

Regulus tone was light as he gestured to it. ‘I thought as a student of hereditary magic, you might be interested in this.’ 

Hermione gave him a warm smile and stepped forward. She'd studied the magic in the tapestry for hours the first time she’d come across it. She tried to recreate that feeling, scanning the names with interest.

‘How does it work?’ Hermione enquired. 

‘The magic is connected to the bloodline. Every birth or death is recorded through that link - hence why expelling non-conformers has to be so brutally done,’ Regulus said wryly pointing to the space where Alfard’s name had been smited out. 

‘It’s fascinating, Reg, to see the bloodline laid out going back so far. Do you mind if I make a sketch of it?’ Hermione asked eagerly, a plan forming in her mind.    

He nodded in assent.

Hermione got to work straight away, pulling a notepad from her bottomless bag and beginning her sketch. Regulus watched on her idly as she drew and Severus made his excuses, returning to the gathering of Blacks and their allies. 

‘Family is everything, Hermione. You should do everything you can to protect your line,’ Regulus said so softly, she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him. 

Hermione hummed in agreement, her mind racing with thoughts of what he could mean. There was a warning in there somewhere, but it was beyond her grasp.

Quickly finishing up the sketch, she turned her pad so it faced Regulus. 

He scruntised it carefully. ‘Well you’ve got all the details, I suppose.’

Hermione snorted. ‘Very diplomatic Reg. I’ve never claimed to be an artist. I’ve been concentrating on other, potentially more useful talents. Speaking of which…’

She dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out an Old D. A. coin.

Hermione had been considering when and if to give these to her Slytherin allies. It would be a risk. She didn’t want them going into wider circulation with the Death Eaters. 

But Regulus was different. He wasn’t far away from leaving Hogwarts, joining the Death Eaters and betraying his master. Plus, there was something he was struggling to communicate with her now, and this might come in useful one day. 

Handing it to a curious looking Regulus, she explained its function. ‘It’s a communication device. I’ve been experimenting with it for a while, and this has taken a long time to get working…’

Regulus watched with wide eyes as a message flashed up from her master coin. ‘This is game-changing, Hermione…’

‘Perhaps one day. Right now it’s taken a year to get the spells right to create a twin set.’

‘So it’s not replicable?’ 

‘Not yet. I’d like us to experiment with it for at least six months. Then it will take a year or two to get it right for reproduction….’

Regulus hummed tossing the coin in his hand. His eyes shot to her and gaze was intense when he spoke. ‘It’s just for us?’

‘Just for us,’ she agreed, the weight of his stare almost crushing her. 

This could change the game. For her, and Regulus.

Chapter 47: II: XII

Hermione stumbled across the library at Malfoy Manor, levitating no less than half a dozen massive tomes. Featherwight charms only went so far - with texts this big and so old, one needed to be extra careful.

She let out a groan as the texts landed on the large table she had been working at, catching Severus's raised eyebrow as she sank into the chair.

'So what are you looking for today that's got you pulling out the most difficult-looking texts in this place?' Severus drawled. 

Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately. 'Stabilisation charms. The modern ones aren't working for what I need.' 

'Is this for your Pensieve pet project?' 

Hermione nodded and opened up the first text in front of her. 'I've reduced the formula so it can fit in a smaller, more portable container. The tricky bit is keeping it stable enough when it's reduced down further and transported.' 

Severus hummed, tapping his finger on the table and remaining silent for a moment. 'Perhaps... you need to go back to the beginning then. Or as far as we can...' 

'Oral histories?' Hermione groaned, not relishing the complexities of early writing on magic. 

'Yes, unfortunately. I can see you're looking at Elemental Magic, which feels like the right foundation. Those Dark Ages accounts of transfiguration miracles might give you some clues...'

'You're probably right,' Hermione sighed. 'I shall have to accept the lack of precision and experiment...'

'Isn't that your favourite thing to do? It is a Sunday and you're spending the best of your leisure time in a library...'

'Touche,' Hermione laughed. 'What are you here for?' 

Severus paused for a moment. 'Looking for new ways to break down Wards. The Dark Lord's curse breaker isn't up to scratch...' 

Hermione hummed. That was interesting information. The Death Eaters were clearly starting to target more prominent targets - well-known Muggleborns and members of the Order, who were much more savvy about protections than the general population. Even though Hermione knew not much could keep the Dark Lord out of wherever he wanted to be, she didn't imagine he wanted to be doing all the hard work.  

'That makes sense, given the targets are getting more powerful...' 

'It does. And let's just say some of his followers lack the necessary creativity to work out new solutions.' 

Hermione gave a mock gasp. 'You mean not everyone spends their weekends in libraries to feed their minds?!' 

Severus gave a rare chuckle. 'Fools. The lot of them.' 

'We should really have worked in Mysteries, shouldn't we?'

'At least we wouldn't be surrounded by imbeciles... why didn't you end up there? It makes perfect sense.'

Hermione gave a rueful little sigh. She would have loved to be in the Department of Mysteries, but there was little choice. 'Well, I wouldn't be very useful, would I? I could hardly not go to the Minister's office, once the carrot was dangled in front of me...' 

Severus hummed in agreement. 'That fiancé of yours has been bragging about your influence whenever he gets the opportunity.' 

Hermione's face broke into a smug grin. Even if she felt discontented with the cause right now, it was good to know her allies were doing the groundwork for her. 

Everything was still on track. 

 

.............

 

Hermione hadn’t seen as much of Remus as she would have liked over the past few months and felt somewhat guilty about ignoring their shop. She need not have worried ,though, when she arrived through its doors late one May afternoon, it was clear he had everything under control. 

The shelves were nearly stacked with beautifully displayed objects, and the books arranged by interest, giving the place a warm, well-kept feel. It was somewhat unusual for Knockturn Alley, but Remus was clearly doing well, and the sound of his humming suggested he was also content. 

Before arriving at the shop, Hermione had one hell of a day. The Minister was incandescent with rage, at the Wizengamot, his staff and most of all, the editor of the Daily Prophet. The Prophet had published an editorial questioning his budgetary decisions, and another article suggesting Voldemort's philosophy was understandable, even if his methods were not. 

Both articles were out of step with the usual reporting standards. Hermione suspected they had been placed as a bribe. Probably by Lucius Malfoy, knowing how much he liked to throw his cash around. 

It didn’t matter. The editorials had struck a nerve with the general public, and by the time Hermione left the office, a small group of protesters were stationed in the lobby. They were loud, angry and impossible to ignore - making their point about overspending by shooting gold glitter out of their wands at all passersby.  

Hermione had not been able to avoid getting showered with gold glitter on her way out and was now head to toe covered in the stuff. 

She shook her hair violently as she walked down Diagon Alley, and cast a range of spells to try and clean herself, to no avail. Even for Witches, that stuff was impossible to get out. 

‘Hermione!’ Remus exclaimed as Hermione burst through the door, shaking her head once again. Remus’s eyes were wide and incredulous as he placed his book down and took in her appearance. ‘What happened to you?!’ 

‘Those idiots at the Daily Prophet,’ Hermione grumbled, giving him a light kiss on the cheek.

Remus playfully tried to duck to avoid the glitter. ‘Oi!’ 

‘I know, I’m covered in the stuff. I shall be taking The Prophet down in the morning in retaliation,’ she replied breezily, perching herself on the stool by the counter. 

‘Rock on, Gold Dust Woman,’ Remus grinned playfully. ‘What can I do for you?’ 

‘The pleasure of your company, of course,’ she replied as if scandalised that it would be anything else. ‘I wouldn’t mind taking a look at that cup you found as well before I take you for a drink.’ 

Hermione had a clear plan for her mission to destroy Voldemort, which should work. She wasn’t going to waste the one thing she had on her side right now - time. 

Now she was out in the world, she needed to use it wisely - not only to get closer to Dark families and eventually Voldemort himself - but also to have everything at her disposal that might help her in her mission. 

Keeping an eye on the Horcruxes was crucial. She was relatively confident about their location and had no intention of disturbing them until the latest possible moment to avoid detection.

She didn’t want to risk missing anything in this time, though, so preparing for all eventualities felt like the best use of her time right now. 

It made sense to keep an eye on the dark antiques market. She had given Remus specific instructions to look for objects that interested her. Acquiring rare books on long-forgotten magic also helped her feel like she would be equal to Tom Riddle when the time came. 

‘What an excellent boss you are,’ Remus grinned, moving towards the back of the shop and rummaging around to find the object in question.

Hermione perused the shelves, admiring the new finds and wondering idly how Remus would take the news that she was no longer his boss. After a month or so of him working there, she’d transferred the deeds for this place to his name. It didn’t seem worth bringing it up now, for fear he wouldn’t accept it. 

‘Here you go,’ he said, handing her the object in question. 

Hermione eyed the cup in her hand carefully, noting its appearance. There were no signs of a Badger. She cast her wand over it slowly to detect hidden Curses, just to be sure. 

Her forehead crinkled and lips pursed. Her instincts were correct - this was not the Horcrux. 

‘Disappointed?’ Remus probed gently. 

‘The curses are just so pedestrian,’ she grinned. 

‘Merlin forbid,’ Remus chuckled. ‘I’ll try to source some more with more creativity. These Pureblood families are far too inbred to use their imaginations.’

‘Quite,’ Hermione agreed conspiratorially. She took in a deep breath and sprang to her feet. ‘Right, I need a Firewhiskey! I demand you shut this shop immediately!’ 

Remus grinned in agreement and began packing his things, whistling as he went. 

Just as he was picking up his bag, they were interrupted by the fast-moving mist of a Patronus swooping into the shop at speed. They both stood stock still as it formed into a dog, stopping in front of Remus, face to face. Padfoot.  

‘Meadows House, immediately. It looks bad,’ Sirius’s Patronus demanded. 

‘Shit!’ said Remus, turning to Hermione, his eyes wide and panicked. ‘I…’

‘Go!’ Hermione said swiftly, holding her hand up. ‘Padfoot needs you, I’ll lock up.’

Remus gave her an odd look, somewhere between suspicion, confusion and knowing. It was fleeting, though. In a flash, he had apparated away, leaving the room empty, with an unnatural silence behind him.  

It was only later that she realised she wasn’t supposed to connect Sirius’s dog form with the name Padfoot. 

Hermione let out a long sigh, as a feeling of dread began to wash over her. 

This was the beginning. She knew what that Patronus meant and what was coming for Dorcas. Those loyal, brave Order members that she had only heard tales of would begin to fall in this time, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent it. 

Nausea washed over her in a wave as she tried to take deep, calming breaths and do what she promised and shut up the shop. Hearing about death was so very different to experiencing it in real time, even though she would be one step removed.  

When she was satisfied the shop was locked, despite her shaky hands, Hermione headed back to the Manor. 

It was empty. She fixed herself a Firewhiskey and collapsed down onto a chaise lounge in the library.  All she could do was wait. 

Somehow, she managed to fall into a restless slumber. 

It wasn’t in the early hours that she stirred. At first, she thought it was the stiffness in her neck that had woken her, but then she realised it was a wail of pure pain. 

Pulling her achy body up, she stumbled into the hallway. In the distance, she could see James escorting Lily up the stairs, holding her up, and whispering in her ear as she sobbed into his robes. 

Remus was standing perfectly still, watching them with a haunted expression on his face. 

It was real, then. Nothing had changed. 

Hermione took a deep, calming breath and sidled up to Remus, placing a gentle hand in his and stroking carefully. 

‘Dorcas…’ he managed to croak out. 

Hermione squeezed his hands and closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer. 

‘Her dad and sister too,’ he continued, barely able to get the words out. ‘They are not even… they didn’t have anything to do with us… The state… the state they were in. It was brutal. How could they?’ 

It was a question she had asked herself so many times before. How does a human do this to another soul, no matter the cost? It was senseless.

‘I don’t know, Remus. I don’t know…’ 

Hermione steered him to the kitchen, nudging him to sit down. They sat in horrified silence for a while as she made him tea. Hermione concentrated on the tick of the clock on the wall, trying not to focus on the shake of Remus’s hand. It was too heartbreakingly familiar. 

Slowly, though, he began to speak. Remus shook as he tried to convey the horror of what he’d seen, the signs of struggle, rape and a family watching each other being torn apart.  

She stroked him, held him, tried everything she could to comfort him without words. 

Because words were not enough. 

………

Titus summoned Hermione for tea the following day. 

It took all the energy she had to dress, groom and put on her best mask of indifference. She was anything but inside. 

He ushered her into the parlour of Nott Manor and, without preamble, started his assault. ‘You must have had a trying day.’

‘You could say that,’ she answered mutely, sinking into an armchair and taking a cup of tea from an elf absentmindedly. 

‘It was quite the spread in the Prophet. Abraxas is very pleased with his son. How did Mincham take it?’ Titus probed in clipped tones, his eyes intent on her. 

Of course, this was not about Dorcas at all. Why would the fate of a Muggle family be considered an interesting conversation? 

The Minister was the one who mattered. That and the moves of Lucius in steering the public conversation to suit their needs. She tried to gulp down her nausea. 

‘Not well,’ Hermione replied dully. ‘He fears he’s losing influence. I would have some concerns about him taking more drastic measures.’ 

Titus hummed and leant back slightly as he considered her words. ‘It would be quite a bold move to try and influence the press, after everything he’s said…’

Hermione took a beat before she answered, eyeing Titus carefully. ‘I’m not suggesting that. I'm suggesting he might give the press what they want. Some of the more salacious details of the latest attacks may influence the public mood, for example.’

Titus sighed, leaning forward and rubbing his temple with his hands. He obviously knew what she was referring to. ‘That would be a shame. Can it be stopped?’ 

‘Maybe once, but if it continues…’ she trailed off.

‘It can be hard to keep some recruits from giving into their baser desires. We are advocating freedom after all,’ Titus tried to explain, his shoulders slumping further. 

He was clearly exhausted by Dolohov and Bellatrix’s antics. It was hard for Hermione to have sympathy, though, given that he was still supporting them and their maniac of a Dark Lord. Rage rose with her, and she had to grip onto the armrest beside her to stop herself from letting it free.  

‘It’s not always the best way to win a war, though,’ Hermione shot back, her tone clipped with restraint. ‘I hope you know I will not tolerate that sort of behaviour in my own household.’ 

Titus' eyes softened slightly, and he gave her a soft smile. ‘I know that,’ he answered slowly. ‘I hope you know what my role is here. I’m a soldier and I will do my duty. Nothing more, nothing less.’

Hermione nodded imperiously. There was nothing more she could do without giving herself away. He needed to think he had appeased her, no matter how angry she really was. 

Graciously, she held out her hand. He gave her a small smile and gratefully squeezed it, then raised it to his mouth for a chaste kiss.   

Still, Titus looked exhausted. This war was taking its toll on even the most hardened battle commander. 

Hermione tried to feel even an ounce of the empathy she was showing, but below the surface it was all for Dorcas.

Chapter 48: II: XIII

Sirius was staring out of the rain-soaked window of the Leaky Tavern.

It was bleak out there. Sheets of rain fell from the sky onto the heads of scowling Witches and Wizards, crouching to shield themselves. Most have umbrella charms above their heads, but the rain was lashing down so hard that drizzles of water still got through most of them. 

It amazed him sometimes how a simple charm like that could evade so many Witches and Wizards. It seemed like such a basic skill, and one that surely even a first-year at Hogwarts could master. But then he remembered - magic was not bestowed equally. 

He'd be blessed, really. He sailed through his school years, barely breaking a sweat at lessons on offer, seeking more and more challenging pursuits with his friends to starve off their boredom. Sirius sought out company like himself - clever, brave, brilliant.

Like Dorcas. 

Dorcas had been the first Witch to hex him outside of his family. Sirius couldn't remember why - he was in his second year and probably acting like a little shit - but he remembered the sting. A broad grin had spread across his face when it subsided, and he caught Dorca's smug, defiant stare. 'That was wicked! Teach me how to do it?' he'd said to her.   

From then on, a friendship had been born. She was closer to Lily and Marlene, and he was obsessed with the Marauders, of course, but Sirius had loved to partner with her in classes, debate with her, and hear her raucous laugh. 

Dorcas was a brilliant Witch - one of the best defensive spellcasters he'd ever met. So why wasn't she here anymore? 

Sirius couldn't make sense of it. 

The clunk of a pint landing on the table broke him out of his trance. He clutched it gratefully, taking a sip as James sat down opposite him, and did the same. 

They were silent for a few minutes before James spoke. 'How's Marlene doing?' 

Sirius gave a frustrated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. 'Shit. Smashing things against walls mostly.' 

He didn't want to tell James the rest. There was no way his best friend would approve of what had actually happened when he saw Marlene. How he'd encouraged her rage, destroying half of her flat in the process. When her fire had burnt out, Marlene had grabbed him and pulled him into a bruising kiss. They'd had furious sex in the wreckage, in an attempt for both of them to forget themselves.

It didn't last, of course. Marlene had returned to anger within minutes, and Sirius had been left numb, a hollow, empty shell in his chest that felt like it would never be filled. 

'Well then, you're the best company for her, aren't you?' 

Sirius gave a rueful little laugh that came out all wrong. James knew him far too well. 'She's not going to take this lying down, Prongs. She is itching to get out on another mission and ready to murder the next potential Death Eater she meets.'

James shook his head. 'I don't think Dumbledore will let her for a while. It was obvious what they were to each other, and she won't be in the right frame of mind.... he also asked how you were doing...' 

Sirius frowned, confused. 

James continued in a gentle voice. 'I don't think he understood what you all were to each other.' 

'And what did you say?' 

James went beet red. It almost made Sirius laugh. He was always uncomfortable with Sirius's free and easy attitude towards intimacy. 'That it was her and Marlene in the relationship. That you were just friends... who had some fun...' 

It sounded so casual, as if he were unaffected. But it wasn't fair to quibble over the details - they were all hurting right now, Marlene most of all. 

'That sounds about right,' Sirius offered in a tight voice, ignoring the ache in his chest and taking a gulp of his pint. 'How's Lily?'

'In shock, I think. It's almost impossible to get your head around, isn't it?'

'Yeah...' 

'It's almost like she's lifeless with the grief. She barely listens to conversations now, and I catch her staring into space all the time. I don't know how to help her, to be honest...' 

Sirius gulped down his pint, unsure what to say. What did he know about grief, apart from how to lock it away, storing all the hurt, pain and anger until it burst out of him? He was self-aware enough to recognise that he wasn't an expert on healthy coping mechanisms. 'I'd ask Moony his advice on that one. He's the only sensible one amongst us...'  

James hummed. 'I have done. He said something very wise about 'giving her time'. But I'm an impatient bastard, aren't I?'

Sirius gave his friend a warmer smile. 'That you are. And Lily loves you for it, I'm sure.' 

'We're trying to distract her - me, mum and Hermione - with the wedding planning. It's only six weeks away now.'

Sirius had almost forgotten about that. 'It's mid-July, isn't it? Are you sure you still want to do it? While all this is going on, I mean?' 

James beamed. 'I couldn't think of a better time. We've got to have something good to concentrate on, haven't we?' 

 

..............

 

A few weeks later, Euphemia, Lily and Hermione were sitting in a Pagoda in the gardens of Potter Manor, trying to hash out the details for the wedding.

Euphemia and Hermione were trying to get Lily back involved with planning, hoping that something positive to concentrate on would ease her burden. It was also already the end of June, so time was of the essence.

Hermione was glad to see the colour returning to Lily's cheeks again.

It had been hard to watch her descend into shock at the death of her friend.

It brought up long-buried memories for Hermione, which she would rather have forgotten. It was too easy for the ghost of ache in chest to return as she remembered the shock of the first of her friends to fall in front of her.

The battle had been the first official time she’d seen Lavender, then Remus, Tonks and Fred's bodies laid out before her. Still, it was George she remembered the most vividly. Days later, on the run, he had been slain right in front of her. Time seemed to slow as the light in his eyes was there one moment, then gone the next.

The disbelief had hit her hard.

After that, friend after friend had fallen, with no relief in sight. It was relentless. All Hermione had left was a hollow feeling where her heart should be.

Hermione didn't want that for her new family. 

She was brought out of her thoughts by whooping and hollering from the nearby Quidditch Match. There was no point dwelling on it now. All she could do was focus on the Witches in front of her. 

‘Keep it down, boys, we have business to discuss!’ Euphemia scolded good-naturedly.

‘Nothing’s more important than Quidditch, Mother,’ James cried.

‘Is it too late to switch the groom?’ Lily grumbled with a smile. 

‘We’d all understand, dear,’ Euphemia replied breezily. ‘But in the meantime, let's work out how to downplay the magic in the ceremony, shall we?’ 

It had been agreed that they would hold the wedding at Potter Manor, as Lily only really wanted her dad and Petunia to be there. They hadn’t really banked on the fact that Lily’s family, small as they were, resisted anything to do with the Wizarding World. Working out how to integrate them was giving the Potter Witches more than one headache. 

‘I don’t want to be a bother…’

‘It’s not you that’s being the bother,’ Hermione said darkly, thinking of all the horror stories Harry had told her about growing up with the Dursleys. Euphemia and Lily gave her a sharp look, clearly interpreting her ill humour as disrespect for Muggles. ‘I didn’t mean… that. I think we can keep it simple with the handfasting.’

‘And downgrade James’ need to arrive on an Abraxon…’ Lily deadpanned.

‘It’s not one of his strongest suggestions…’ Hermione agreed. She was about to continue when a strange sensation stopped her. 

Hermione stilled, sat up straight, then jumped from her chair, clasping the back pocket of her jeans. Something was burning there. She gasped. Of course - the D.A. coin. 

Her heart leapt out of her chest. It meant only one thing. She grabbed the coin from her pocket, quickly scanning the message on the coin:

Lily’s Parents' House. 3 Wards already down. Your family has minutes to prevent. 

Without any real thought, Hermione leapt up and shouted at the top of her voice, ‘Jaaaaaaaammmesss!’ 

‘What Lady Potter? Are the flowers the wrong shade?’ James teased as he flew down towards them. 

‘James, Lily, all of you,’ Hermione commanded seriously, gesturing to Remus, Peter and Sirius. ‘You need to go and check on Lily’s parents’ house NOW.’ 

‘How do you…’ Sirius started, walking towards her with a look of incredulity on his face.

But Remus cut him off. ‘She’s obviously had a warning, let’s go!’ 

They Apparated immediately, not needed any other persuasion.

Hermione and Euphemia were left standing still, panting, reeling from what had just happened.

Euphemia clutched Hermione's arm and gestured for her to sit, her eyes darting about as she took in what had just happened. They sat in silence, reeling.

‘Do you think they’ll make it?’ Euphemia asked gently after a few minutes.

Hermione frowned. There was no easy answer to that question. ‘I hope so. The other side has only taken down a couple of wards, the stronger ones should allow them some time to fight back.’ 

‘Fight back?’ Euphemia paled. ‘Who are they fighting against?’ 

‘I can’t tell you that,’ Hermione answered, pleading with her not to probe. 

She didn’t know how to tell Euphemia what they would find. Her adopted son, Sirius, would be coming face-to-face with his brother, for it was Regulus who had given her the warning.

They sat in silence then, both contemplating. 

Hermione was shocked Regulus had contacted her this way. He had given her a warning. Not only for a Muggleborn, but for her family. A family he should be all accounts, despise. 

She knew Regulus was beginning to see Lily as a Witch, with value and intelligence. But to protect her seemed unbelievable. Regulus didn’t have the attachment to Lily that she and Severus did. Maybe he was doing it for Severus’s sake, or hers, considering Lily was almost family, or maybe both. 

Hermione realised then that Regulus was trying to warn her of this, on the night of Ostara. Why would he do such a thing? Why would he risk everything? 

It was the first week back at home for Hogwarts students. That meant Regulus must be on his first mission as a Death Eater. It wasn’t going to go well. 

Did this happen in the first timeline? Hermione doubted it. The outcome then was completely uncertain. 

Hermione's skin began to buzz like a live wire, and she brought her hands to itch it, trying to rid herself of the horrible feeling settled in her stomach. This complete lack of control had left her floored. 

She prayed then to any god who would have her. Sirius was going to face his brother, while James would face any number of Death Eaters. Regulus, poor Reg, wasn’t supposed to die this way.

Had she messed with time too much? Was this how Lily’s father was supposed to die? She didn’t know. 

Regulus had tried to save Lily. 

Something clicked in her mind then. A certainty that her path would diverge from her original plan. Regulus deserved to live.

Hermione knew she had to try and save him too now. She could make it to that cave; she could get him out; she was sure of it. If only she could fool that damn tapestry… but he had to be alive for that, didn’t he? 

Was he even alive?

Remus returned first, looking a little battered but standing upright. Hermione quickly scanned his body for major injuries, letting out a satisfied sigh when she saw none.  

‘They’re safe, they are all safe,’ Remus confirmed, leaning forward and panting, his head lolling between his legs and hands on his thighs, holding his body up. 

Euphemia sank into her chair in relief.

‘James and Lily are with her parents at a safe house. Sirius isn’t taking it too well, but he’ll be back here soon,’ Remus continued. 

‘What isn’t he taking well, Remus?’ Hermione questioned, her voice quiet as a mouse. 

‘That his brother was there,’ Remus stated, choosing his next words carefully. ‘Everyone… on the other side… they all got out.’ 

Hermione could only nod. 

‘I need to get back to the Order, you’ll be alright?’ Remus asked gently. 

‘Of course, Remus, we’ll take care of each other,’ Euphemia answered, hugging Hermione’s side gently.

Hermione stayed on the Pagoda until the light began to fade, taking a moment of calm to process her raging thoughts.

When her heartbeat had finally calmed, she slowly made her way back into the Manor. 

As they walked towards the house, Hermione barely noticed Sirius' stiff form on the veranda, staring daggers at her as she walked towards him.

When her vision sharpened and she saw him, she came to a halt. His body was held taught, as if he were a viper ready to strike. Perhaps, given the expression of loathing and despair on his face, he was, she mused. 

Hermione knew that look. It was not the light, teasing warmth he'd bestowed on her over the last few weeks. It was harder and more brutal than that. Sirius had seen the darkness tonight, and he wanted to vanquish it.

That might be what Hermione was to him. Something dark, forbidden and unworthy. 

‘He was going to kill them,’ Sirius stated in a low, broken voice. ‘He was going to kill Lily's family, and you knew.’ 

Hermione closed her eyes, feeling each lash of his words as if they were really cutting her flesh. Her heart began to pound, and a dull ache spread through it. 

She wouldn’t let it infect her, though. Whatever darkness she’d let in, she had to believe it was in service to the light. Otherwise, none of this was worth it. Sirius needed to lash out and would let him.

‘If that’s what you’re taking from this, you’ve completely missed the point,’ she managed to get out in a low, dull voice, squeezing her eyes shut.

Sirius let out what sounded like a low whine. It cut through her heart, piercing it with the pain of his pure despair.

Hermione opened her eyes and took a swift step towards him, mirroring his expression of hurt and pleading.  

‘He’s one of them,’ Sirius whispered, scanning her eyes for something. Perhaps confirmation, empathy or something else. ‘They’ve marked him. He has to do their bidding. That’s it.’ 

Hermione grabbed his arm and dragged his body towards her. ‘That’s not it, Sirius,’ she muttered fiercely. ‘He can still make a difference.’ 

Sirius' fingers dug into her arm as he turned on her, eyes wide and pleading. ‘Can he, though? With those evil, bloodthirsty fools? Doing their bidding?!' 

Hermione got closer, meeting his gaze head-on. 'Yes. He can still turn. Remember who he is. He's your brother, Sirius...' 

'How can you defend him? How can you defend any of them?’

There it was—the truth of it. Sirius always managed to cut her so deeply with it. 

‘I don’t have a choice,’ she whispered as she dropped his hand. 

Without thought, she turned swiftly around and stalked away as quickly as she could, her vision drowning in the flood of tears streaming down her face.

The relentlessness and heartbreak of war was upon them all, and Hermione could only watch from the sidelines.

Chapter 49: II: XIV

The latest version of the Nott contract arrived at the beginning of July, in a more sensible form than its predecessor. 

It did, however, contain several clauses that were so outrageous they made Hermione scoff out loud. Most importantly, they didn’t consider what she wanted, which was considerable by Pureblood standards. 

Hermione let her lawyers work their magic first, adding a few suggestions for more creative clauses to keep the Nott lawyers busy. 

She was growing impatient with the back and forth of it. Hermione had to constantly remind herself that no matter how painfully slow the process was, a marriage was still her best chance of getting an audience with, and close to the Dark Lord. Otherwise, Voldemort saw only his Death Eaters and their families, and she needed to either take the Dark Mark, or get his attention in some spectacular stunt - which could easily backfire. 

As the clock crept closer to her goal, a restless energy was growing within her. She was almost halfway through her time, and the slow pressure to manoeuvre herself to a place of trust in the Inner Circle weighed heavily.

The thought of speeding up negotiations made her nervous, though. There was the risk she would end up too tightly bound to make a difference. It would also go against ‘the way things were done’ and set her apart from her pureblood peers. 

There was a carefully laid out plan, and Hermione was still on target. Slow and steady would win the race. 

So she fully intended not to push too hard in the contract negotiations and extract as much as possible from them. Stalling was a tactic. So she sent back her proposed amendments, knowing full well they wouldn't be the last.

The Malfoys hosted a small garden party a few days later. 

All of Hermione's Slytherin acquaintances were attending, and she was looking forward to mining them all for information. So she dressed carefully and arrived just early enough to be fashionable, but make the most of her time. 

Parminda made a beeline for Hermione as soon as she walked from the floo onto the lawns, where champagne were being served.  

There was a look of panic on Parminda's face that made Hermione stop in her tracks. There had been far too much bad news recently. As much as Hermione could rationalise that Parminda wasn’t involved in the war, it still made Hermione’s heart sink at the worry that something had gone seriously wrong. 

‘It’s happened,’ Parminda announced dramatically, throwing her hands up in the air. 

‘What’s happened?’ Hermione started, and then stopped. There was only one thing that would cause such a reaction from her friend. A match must have been found for her for marriage. ‘Oh…’ 

‘Oh, sum it up. I’ve got three months, then I’m being carted off to India. It will be spring before I’m back in Europe,’ she said miserably. 

‘What’s he like?’ Hermione probed, grabbing a glass of champagne from a nearby elf and taking a sip. It was delicious, of course.  

‘He’s got a nice face, I suppose. Just deadly dull,’ Parminda sighed.

‘It could be worse, ‘minda.’ Hermione said gently.

‘I know. At least I’m coming back. I never really wanted the whole set of Marauders anyway…’ she trailed off wistfully. 

‘How many did you get? Please say you didn’t go near Peter…’ 

‘Merlin, no! He doesn’t count. I was just missing Sirius, and he spends far too much time looking at your bum anyway,’ Parminda replied with a smirk on her face. 

‘Parminda!’ she scolded. ‘I can’t help it if I have a very nice bum,’ she added primly.

They both burst into laughter, clinking their glasses together.

‘Please tell me you’re not objectifying my intended?’ Titus drawled, coming up behind them and giving Hermione a squeeze on the arm, which she returned gratefully.

Hermione turned towards him, catching the twinkle in his rich brown eyes, her cheeks heating as she gave him a small smile.  

‘Oh, has she signed a contract yet?’ Parminda said with mock innocence. 

‘I’m working on it,’ Titus replied, eyes narrowed. ‘She has some rather specific needs...’ 

‘I’ll leave you to hash them out then,’ Parminda replied, kissing Hermione’s cheek as she left. 

‘My lawyers are feeling a little harassed,’ Titus commented, taking her empty cocktail glass and handing Hermione a glass of champagne to replace it, which she took gratefully. 

‘As they should be. It’s good to make the help work for their money, isn't it?’ Hermione replied, taking a sip and enjoying the feeling of bubbles in her throat. 

Titus hummed, taking a sip of his own glass and eyeing her carefully. He leaned forward and whispered in a low, conspiratorial voice. ‘I’ve been asked to beg for your mercy, but we both know that’s not my style, Cariad. So tell me, what is it that you really want?’ 

Hermione eyed him carefully, gesturing for him to sit on a nearby stone bench, behind a fountain and away from prying eyes. He did her bidding, with a small smile and a wry raise of his eyebrow. Hermione sat down next to him, taking a moment to centre herself before beginning again. 

"I want freedom, Titus," she began without preamble, her gaze steelily determined. ‘To live my life, practise my magic, go where I please, see who I wish and so on.’ 

‘That doesn’t sound like a marriage,’ Titus replied tightly.

‘It sounds like a partnership. I still want to support your goals, share your bed, and be the mother of your very clever children. It doesn’t take away from the dowry you will receive, the information you’ll gain, the skill you and your family will have at their fingertips.’ 

‘You cannot be naive enough to think my Father will accept such a deal,’ Titus countered.  

‘Make him see reason then. You deserve the wife you choose, and the Nott family deserves the best, my offers alone show that I am that,’ she answered, head held high.

‘Bringing Flores into this is a low blow, Cariad.’ 

‘I didn’t mean to. This is about us. I don’t do well with shackles, you know this. I choose the cause, I choose this life, and I choose you. Is that not so much more valuable than force?’ she implored, leaning forward to emphasise her point.

Titus took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, not breaking his eye contact. He bit his lip, his eyes twinkling as he took her in. Finally, he held up his hands in concession. ‘Fine, we’ll go over the details later. You lost me after ‘share my bed’ anyway, to be honest…’ he smiled. 

She burst into a low chuckle. It very clearly wasn’t true. Titus would always weigh up every word she said carefully. It would take more than the suggestion of sex to throw him. 

‘I have something for you,’ he said lightly, pulling out a box from his robes. 

Hermione pursed her lips but took it from him, opening it carefully. Inside were a pair of ornate earrings. His courting gifts were getting more serious.

‘They have strong protective qualities, and act as a Portkey to the Nott estate whenever you need it. I’ve stripped them back to those two uses only, of course, as per your previous requests.’

‘They are beautiful,’ she said reverently.

‘So are you,’ he replied with a soft kiss.   

.............

The day of James and Lily’s wedding was predictably beautiful. The sun shone brightly over the lawns of Potter Manor, the lake glistening and birds singing brightly, as if nature itself was blessing the union. 

It was to be expected that someone as blessed as James would get a day to suit his mood, which was, of course, ecstatic. He was marrying the woman of his dreams.

Hermione forgave him all his ridiculousness that day - and there was a lot of it to go around. There was a middle-of-the-night start, panic over rings, and morning Quidditch for all, and that was all before 9 am. 

James deserved the world, so he could get away with it. 

Luckily, it was Sirius who was at the sharp end of it all. As James' platonic soulmate, he remained charmed by him throughout. 

Hermione watched on as Sirius cajoled, reassured and at one point wrestled James into his robes, all with a surprising amount of good humour. Managing James was a full-time job, and Sirius made it look so effortless. Hermione told herself she was just being the good sister checking on them, ignoring the way her gaze lingered on Sirius’s artfully draped robes, warm smiles and crinkled eyes. She realised as her heart panged, what a sucker she was for his loyalty, unwavering friendship and sheer fun. There was nothing more attractive. 

He hadn't really spoken to her since he'd found Regulus at Lily's parents' house, but Hermione could see his fire had burnt out. Whenever she'd seen him over the last few weeks, he'd looked jaded and melancholy. It was good to see him today in his element, his eyes sparkling with joy again. 

Remus and Hermione took on the less onerous task of making sure the wedding practicalities were in order, supporting Euphemia and Fleamont to greet the guests, chase after wayward house elves and smooth over minor issues. 

One less than minor issue was the Evans. Lily’s father was shy and frightened of magic, but reassuring words could help with that. Vernon and Petunia Evans were something else entirely. Hermione had never met such vapid, insipid, hateful people, and she’d lived with Slytherins for years. 

‘You cannot leave me with them, Remus,’ Hermione said tensely. ‘I might murder them.’

‘Don’t try it on, Lady Potter,’ Remus replied, setting out the last of the chairs for the ceremony. ‘We both know you are perfectly capable of controlling your murderous urges, or James wouldn’t be with us.’ 

‘Don’t you dare try me! You know full well I’m supposed to hate Muggles,’ she shot back.

‘You’re really bad at that, you know,’ Remus smirked. 

‘That man is an abomination, and don’t get me started on that sister of hers! She wouldn’t spit on any of us if we were on fire! She doesn’t deserve to be Lily’s sister,’ Hermione ranted.

‘Alright, alright, I can see you feel passionately about this one,’ he conceded. ‘You can take Murial Prewitt.’

‘Done,’ Hermione said quickly. 

‘Really?’ Remus questioned, perplexed. 

‘Really. I can handle her criticism of my fat ankles; she has information on just about everyone.’ Hermione smiled serenely, skipping away to do her duty. 

Hermione's main stress for the day was whether Titus would be invited. Fleamont and Euphemia agreed that he absolutely should be, as he was courting her formally, but that he would only stay for the ceremony and drinks. Hermione was more than happy with this arrangement. 

When he arrived through the floo, Titus was the consummate gentleman. He was a little stiff in his greeting, clearly there to do his duty and nothing more. As the ceremony was about to start, Titus took Hermione's hand and escorted her up the aisle to their seats.

'I don't think I've seen you in gold before,' Titus whispered in her ear. 'It brings out your beautiful eyes.' 

It was enough to make her blush slightly as she sat down, fussy with her robes and giving him a small smile which seemed to satisfy him. 

Titus was soon engaged in polite conversation with Fleamont, and Hermione turned her gaze towards the dais. James was bouncing up and down on his heels in excitement and nerves, but Sirius stood beside him, stock still, staring blankly at Hermione. 

Hermione could see his shoulders tighten and a flash of some dark pass his eyes as his gaze turned to Titus. When he turned back to her, his gaze seemed to soften slightly, and his mouth parted. It was as if he'd never seen her before, and the sight of her had left him dumbstruck. 

Hermione could hear the thump of her heart through her ears, all other sounds washed away as she gulped, unable to tear her eyes away from him. 

Sirius' expression was schooled quickly, though. James had let out an extremely nervous laugh, and Sirius turned back to him, beaming at his best friend, clapping him on the back and whispering in his ear. 

When Lily walked down the aisle, time stood still. She was vision in cream lace, but the look in her eyes sold it. It was pure, unadulterated joy. Hermione’s heart melted seeing how much Lily was into this - just as much as James -and that was saying something. 

Hermione tried not to cry as she saw the beaming joy reflected in her adopted brother's eyes, who stumbled his way through the vows, and couldn't control the shake in his hands as they were bonded together. 

It was a soul bond, of course. No matter how rare they were, it could be nothing else. 

Titus watched Hermione carefully throughout the ceremony. She felt his heavy gaze on her as she laughed at their vows, clutched her heart and threw glitter cannons into the air as they walked back down the aisle. 

The sensible part of her brain screamed ‘you’re giving yourself away!’, ‘fall back!’, and ‘pull down the mask!’. But resistance was futile. The joy spilling out of her could not be repressed. 

It was crazy to think her happiness might be her downfall, but she couldn’t stop it if she tried. 

Titus barely said a word to her as they made their way to the reception and took their first drinks. They stood in silence, sipping their drinks and gazing out at the crowd. Hermione tried to still the heavy best of her heart, fearing what he might say when he finally spoke. 

They exchanged only a few words with each other as they listened to the speeches, Hermione wiping away tears of joy and laughter. Sirius made her smile so hard her face began to hurt, James's speech was so heartfelt she almost sobbed, but it was Lily's Father who struck her the most. A Muggle father, just like her own, full of awe and appreciation for his daughter, trying to make sense of the world she now lived in.  

‘You love them both,’ Titus commented in a monotone voice as they made their way to the cloakroom.

He was pulling on his outer robes, ready to leave. Hermione knew how easy it would be in this moment to say exactly the wrong thing. So she took a moment before she replied.  

‘It is hard not to in a moment like this, Titus,’ Hermione replied, smoothing down some imaginary lint on his lapel. ‘Love is a powerful, magical force, and they know it.’ 

Titus sighed deeply, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. ‘I want them to see the way, Cariad. For your sake.’

He pulled her to him then, and she leaned into it gratefully, closing her eyes and breathing his scent in as he kissed her cheek gently. 

‘I want you to see it that way too,’ she whispered, pulling him by the hand to the Floo. ‘I’ll worry about that tomorrow, though.’

The look on his face was cryptic as he paused by the Floo grate. Hermione thought he was searching for something in her face, trying to weigh her up once again. 

‘Enjoy tonight,’ he said in a stiff tone and with a final bow, he was gone. 

What did that look mean? Panic rose within her at the thought that he was not as sure about her as she thought. 

She was about to spiral, when Remus stumbled into the Floo Parlour.

‘We’ve been looking for you! Is the brooding fiancé gone?’ Remus slurred, stumbling towards her.

Hermione tutted and crossed her arms. ‘You can talk about brooding…’

Remus grabbed her arm and looped it under his own. ‘Well, I’m not brooding tonight! And neither are you. Come on, you owe me a dance…’

Remus dragged her through Potter Manor, into the makeshift ballroom, and straight onto the dance floor. Hermione gave an exaggerated huff in protest, rolling her eyes. Remus merely smiled, spun her around wildly and demanded she drink more champagne and enjoy herself. It took a while, but eventually her body uncurled as she got more and more relaxed and lost in the lights, the music and Remus' infectious joy. 

She could do nothing about Titus' words now. Enjoying the moment was the only thing for it. 

As the night drew on, she let herself go completely, laughing with James, hugging Lily, Fleamont and Euphemia, dancing with Sirius and Remus, gossiping with Murial Prewitt and drinking far, far too much champagne, until everything was hazy. 

There was no talk of the outside world. Here, life was a beautiful bubble, filled with only the good. Hermione would happily stay there forever if she could. 

By the time Lily and James retired to enjoy their first night as a married couple, Hermione was a joyous, stumbling, drunken wreck. 

In the early hours of the morning, the usual suspects ended up in the music room. Remus led the charge, pulling Marlene, Peter, Gideon and Fabian Prewitt along with Sirius. 

Those hours went by in a blur. Hermione played request after request on the keys, her timing completely off, but no one seemed to care. Perfection was not required; just warmth, camaraderie, and sheer fun.  

Still, as fuzzy as her memory was, she would never forget that night —the sounds of these beautiful people singing their hearts out, lost in the sheer wonder of being alive. 

At the end of the night, she gravitated to Sirius. The pull was too impossible to resist, and neither of them had it in them to fight.

He cocked his head to one side and gave her that look. The one he always did - with a wry twinkle in his eye, that dared her to engage. In the hazy fog of drunkenness, it was all too easy to comply.

So she resisted the urge to melt into a puddle on the floor like her traitorous body demanded, and flashed back a saucy look of her own.

His eyes flashed and stalked towards her, a panther tracking its prey, his smirk widening as he reached her. Hermione felt the arm loop around her waist, her body reacting on instinct as it melted into his side.

They fell into a comfy sofa together, mumbled, giggled, sang along to the music and slowly wrapped their bodies around each other in a drunken haze. 

Hermione leaned into his deliciously musky scent, burying herself further into his side. Their hands idly played with each other's curls, Hermione revelling in their softness as their breaths slowed and fell into a natural rhythm together. 

Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so blissfully content. 

She fell asleep on that sofa, snuggling into Sirius’s arms, listening to him sing softly in her ear:

‘Rock on, Gold Dust Woman, take your silver spoon, dig your grave…’