Work Text
DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES, TIME CHAMBER; 18TH JUNE 1996
Hermione was running for her life; the Death Eaters were hot on her heels. For every spell she sent their way, two more deadly spells were sent back her way. Oh God, oh God, oh God, we're all going to die, Hermione thought to herself as she barreled through another doorway. Her trainers slid across the dark marble floor, causing her to stumble as she tried to keep her balance. Looking up, however, she was awe-struck at the magnificent sight before her. In the middle of the lecture hall-sized room stood the most enormous hourglass she'd ever seen, filled with so much sand that she feared it breaking. Time turners were everywhere, some spinning erratically, some moving so slowly it looked like they might be holding still. Various colors and shapes of the timepieces fill the room, extending so high that she couldn’t see where they ended. It was a marvelous sight. Hermione would have appreciated its sheer brilliance at any other time, but as it was... A flash of green light filled the room as she dodged out of the killing curse sent in her direction, causing a far shelf to explode in a rainbow of colors before going black. Hermione's eyes widened in horror, fearing the danger of what might happen in this room. Messing with time was never a good idea. "Silencio!" She yelled; her wand pointed right at a Death Eater's chest. The next spell he'd shot in her direction just missed her and caused sand to rain down over her. She could feel the sand in her eyes, scraping against her scalp, but she didn't have time to try and remove the magical substance from herself as a second Death Eater charged towards her. Hermione whipped her wand at the new Death Eater, sending him flying away backward and crashing through the time sand suspended in midair. His screaming caused some to get into his mouth. Hermione watched in curious disgust as his head began to shrink. Suddenly, Hermione was face to face with a man whose head was a baby while his body was still the size of a man. Her distraction at the disturbing sight gave the first Death Eater an opening to cast a spell right at her chest. She wasn't prepared for the curse, unable to throw up a shield charm in time to prevent the full power of the curse. The pain was like nothing she'd ever felt, as if it were burning her organs as she flew backward. Crashing through the giant hourglass she had only moments before been admiring, a vortex was opened, pulling all the sand in the time room into a black hole. Hermione wasn't even aware of what was happening behind her as she lay on the ground, writhing in agony. The feeling of her body melting from the inside was all she knew, everything else fading away. Hermione didn't notice when she hit her head, knocking the little muggleborn witch unconscious. Not able to stop herself from being pulled in with the sand, Hermione’s limp body crashed into more shelves, hitting her head again and breaking several bones. Unable to save herself, Hermione was sucked into the black hole. And when she disappeared, history as she'd known it would never be the same.
DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES, CREATURES CHAMBER; 18TH MAY 1977
A small group of Unspeakables gathered to discuss the possibilities and the logistics of creating their chimera. A classic illusion with a lion head, goat body, and a dragon tail captured in Greece and brought to London was caged behind them and sedated. Blood, hair, and scale samples had all been taken, and the Unspeakables were trying to break down what animals (magical or non-magical) they could potentially combine to weaponize the creature for the British Ministry. "I believe a kappa and manticore combination–" one hooded Unspeakable said, his face obscured to keep his identity hidden. "Are you mad?" A female interrupted him, "Trying to combine them would be devastating! A manticore able to move and potentially live on both land and water? That sounds–" "Exactly what the Ministry is asking for, if we can control it." Another man said, "We are the group that doesn't believe in the limitations of Magic, do we not? I say a manticore already has similar characteristics to the chimera; we'll compare them and see–" What they would see would have to wait because, at that moment, the secure room they all stood in shook with such force that both men were knocked to the ground while the woman fell onto the table they'd been standing around. The lights overhead flickered, a blast of magical energy burst through the air before everything was still, and a heavy silence hung following the explosion. "What the bloody hell was that!?" The first man, Augustus Rookwood, yelled. The magic that had hidden his identity now failed, making it so everyone could quickly identify each other. "I'm not entirely sure…is that a child?" The woman, now identified as Emmeline Vance, asked, rushing away from her peers to where a teenage girl lay in the middle of what looked like a blast sight. The girl appeared to be unconscious, though her body was convulsing. "Quickly, we need to get her medical attention," Emmeline yelled, looking up from the injured curly-haired girl. "Ah, right. Contact the DMLE; we'll have to report the breach. I can't imagine Crouch will be too happy when he hears about this…" Broderick Bode, the other man who'd been talking, mumbled to himself as he rushed from the room. "Her vitals are crashing," Emmeline yelled over her shoulder as she ran diagnostics over the unknown girl. "Her insides, oh my stars, appear to be melting…" Emmeline waved her wand, summoning her healer bag, and began pouring what potions she hoped might help into the girl's mouth. "Blunt force trauma to the head…Rockwood, be helpful, yeah? I know it's a foreign concept to you–" "Not all of us have gone through healer training, Vance," Rockwood snapped at the woman desperately working before him. "What would you like me to do? Put some dittany on the cut on her cheek?" "Put her in stasis, for Rowena's sake! Use your head; she's dying, you great worthless buffoon!" Emmeline yelled at the man, who finally moved forward, casting the spell that had been requested. "Maybe that'll be our next chimera. You and one of those bloody apes, the two of you, will have similar enough properties. It'll be a breeze to combine you!" Rockwood glared at the witch crouched on the ground, only more perturbed knowing who the throne at his side was at long last. Vance, of bloody course, it was Vance who had been fighting with him for all these months as he did what he could to further his Lord's agenda. Now that he knew for sure, however, it would only make it too easy to gain leverage over her. "We need to move her; what you have in your first aid kit isn't save her. I've never heard of a spell that can cause this type of damage to the human body before; I wonder…" Rockwood said, stepping forward while inspecting the critical diagnostic hanging over the girl. The shining red magic was evident enough that the girl's vitals were crashing, and without intervention, she wouldn't survive. Rockwood tilted his head to the side as he watched the foreign purple swirls coursing through her, peaking Rockwood's curiosity as to what spell had been cast upon the young girl. "St. Mungo’s you fool! Help me get her to the floo; we can discuss theories later!" Emmeline scooped the girl into her arms and rushed towards her office, where a private floo was. Rockwood stayed where he was, not following the two witches, honestly not caring whether the girl survived. Crouching down, he ran his hand over the black scorch marks left behind where she'd appeared. Collecting some of the ash to analyze later, he pocketed it just in time for a group of Aurors to burst into the room. Alastor Moody, Rufus Scrimgeour, and Gawain Robards came walking through, their maroon Auror robes brushing the floor, and the sound of their dragonhide boots clomping against the floor irritating Rockwood even more than just their mere presence was already. "Gentlemen," he greeted, not offering a hand or any other friendly gesture. "I'll leave the room to you," he said, flicking his wand and obscuring the rest of the chamber from their view. "This is a crime scene, Rockwood," Moody growled as Augustus approached the door. "We need to be able to investigate and undo your spell. And you will have to make a statement about what happened and the cause of the breach." Rockwood raised a brow in the Auror's direction, not feeling intimidated by the outraged man. "Everything here is classified above your pay grade, I'm afraid. You'll have to take it up with the Minister," Augustus said, his hands clasped behind his back as he exited the chamber towards his office. There was someone much more pressing for him to speak with than Mad-eye Moody.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
ST. MUNGO’S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES, JANUS THICKEY WARD; 18TH JUNE 1977
"It's been a month; surely you can wake the girl by now," Bartemius Crouch Senior, or Barty for short, complained to the healer in charge of the mysterious patient. His bushy mustache bristled as if magic were coursing through the damn thing, making him look even more degraded than he usually did. "She's part of an ongoing investigation; you can't leave her in a coma to avoid the repercussions coming for her!" The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was ranting, and not for the first time since the girl's arrival. Even though he was only in his early forties, the man looked much older than one would have expected of him. The wrinkles around his eyes were deep, and the bag under his eyes dark; when the hat he always wore shifted, the grey roots of his hair could be seen under the dyed brown. "Sir, she has extensive injuries that have only just been healed. The spell damage to her body was nothing like we'd ever seen before, not to mention the brain injury she suffered, as I've told you each time you've come into my hospital to bug me. I'm not going to rush her to wake before she's ready. Don't call me; I'll call you when that time comes." Healer Walters stated, giving the younger wizard a stern look, not intimidated by the threatening tone Crouch was using with him. Healer Walters was an older gentleman who'd been called out of retirement when this case had come in and was not one to be pushed around by anyone. That included law enforcement, even the head of the department. "I have a warrant for her arrest upon awakening!" Crouch nearly screamed, his face red and his mustache hairs sticking out in odd directions. "You will either wake her up, or I'll move her to a ministry-holding cell!" "Neither of those things is going to happen, Crouch," Walters said, stepping forward, putting himself between the angry man and the innocent girl. "We've dated her age; she's only a minor and has an unknown identity. So, unless you're charging her with murder or the use of an unforgivable, she'll be staying here under my care." Walters crossed his arms over his chest, watching Crouch's jaw click in irritation. Saying nothing else, the man adjusted his top hat and stormed from the floor in a huff. The nurse caring for the poor girl, even coming in on her off days to check on her, stepped away from where she'd been at the bedside to approach the elder wizard. "Sir?" She said, her voice soft but steady, a smile playing at her lips. "Weren't you planning on waking her today anyway?" "Hm, I suppose I was, wasn't I?" Walters said, smiling down at the middle-aged woman beside him. "Come along, Madam Greengrass, let's wake your sweet girl and see what she can tell us, yes?" Helen Greengrass smiled at the healer and nodded in agreement. Walking over, she reached out, taking the girl's hand, rubbing circles on the back of it with her thumb as the man began to lift the spells that had kept the unknown girl in a coma while her body healed. She whispered soothing words of support and encouragement, knowing the process could be jarring and frightening. As the girl began to blink, revealing her chocolate brown eyes, Helen smiled at the confused-looking girl. When she opened her chapped lips to speak, Helen leaned close, silencing her. “Just a moment, dear,” the kind matron whispered to the girl, “you’ve been in an accident, and you’re in the hospital. You’ve been asleep for a while, so I’m going to help you with something to drink and get a little salve for your chapped lips before you try to speak, alright?” The girl slowly nodded, wincing at the movement, causing Helen to cup the young witch’s face lovingly. “You hit your head," she explained, "take it easy and move slowly. Here’s something for the pain and some water to help your dry throat.” The matron helped the girl drink deeply through a straw from the glass she held before offering her the pain potion she’d had on hand. Once Helen had finished treating the girl and she had been propped up in her bed with the help of the pillows around her, the matron finally stepped back and allowed Healer Walters to speak with his patient. “Hello, young lady, my name is Healer Walters, and this is Madam Greengrass,” the elderly wizard said, his tone much gentler than the one he’d used with Crouch only a short time before. “Can you tell me your name?” The girl cleared her throat, looking at Helen, who nodded before looking back at the man. “My name is Hermione, sir,” she said, her voice cracking from the lack of use. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Hermione,” the healer said, still smiling at the girl, Hermione. “Could you tell me how old you are and what your date of birth is by chance?” “I’m sixteen, and my birthday is the nineteenth of September,” Hermione answered, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Very good now. Do you know what your parents’ names are? I’m sure they’re worried about you, and we’d like to be able to contact them,” the man stated because that was one of the oddest things about this entire case. The girl, Hermione, was a witch, her magic readings off the charts for someone her age, but there had been no reports of a missing child in either the magical world or the muggle world for a girl matching her description. Across the globe, the DMLE had been looking to uncover the child’s identity, but on no continent was she ever reported missing, making her even more mysterious. “I don’t know, sir,” Hermione said after a few moments of silence, her eyes unseeing as she tried to reach into the depths of her mind, searching for what should have been a simple answer. “I can tell you about the goblin rebellion of 1433, but I don’t know my parents' names,” Hermione answered, her breathing beginning to quicken. Helen had a calming draught at Hermione’s lips before the panic attack could take hold, encouraging the young girl to drink the potion. “That’s alright, that’s it, my sweet girl,” Helen said, her voice low as Hermione’s chest stopped rushing. “We’ll sort it out together. There's nothing for you to worry over; that’s it,” she told her as Hermione closed her eyes, tears leaking from the corners with her words. “Would you say you’ve taken your OWL exams then?” Healer Walters asked after a while, not trying to rush Hermione into a conversation she wasn’t ready for but still trying to identify her. “We can always check with the Ministry to see if you have; with your age and birthday, I’d suspect you’re in your fifth year of schooling, is that right?” That was another thing the DMLE had searched and searched through. Every magical school across the globe had no record or had a missing student that fit Hermione’s description. With her awake and speaking, her accent was English, and Helen knew that Hogwarts had been a firm no that they were not missing a student. “I’m not sure, sir,” Hermione answered, her eyes still closed and tears running down her face. “All I know of myself is my name, age, and date of birth. Everything else is lost, and I don’t even know what happened to me that would result in finding myself in the hospital.” She explained, the tears coming in earnest at this point. “I don’t even know if I have a mother.” “Not to worry, dear,” Helen said, leaning forward and brushing the hair off Hermione’s forehead where sweat had begun beading. “We’ll get you sorted out,” she offered, looking at the healer who said nothing about his thoughts. “Where am I to go?” Hermione asked, her voice even. Helen assumed that if it weren’t for the calming draught, Hermione would be nearly inconsolable. “I can’t stay in a hospital forever, and I have no money, no family, and no idea who I am. I don’t know what to do,” Hermione said, tears streaming down her face as it became red and splotchy, her eyes still closed. When neither Healer Walters nor Madam Greengrass answered, Hermione figured they needed clarification about the next step, as she did. The weight of her situation was too heavy to carry any longer; Hermione kept her eyes closed and allowed sleep to take her, even as the two adults stood watching over her. As Hermione’s breathing evened out and her head tilted to the side as she slept, Helen couldn’t stop watching the girl. “She’s going to need someone who will stand up to Crouch and the Minister to protect her,” Healer Walters said, observing how Helen watched the girl sleep. “Even with her sudden appearance being kept a secret, people will ask questions about where she came from, and she will need protection. These are dark times we’re living in, and a young girl like her won’t survive being put in a group home.” “Sir?” Helen asked, looking up at the healer who was smiling at her. “If memory serves me, I recall you and your husband wishing for a second child after your son was born,” he explained, adjusting her robes as he turned away. “She looks a great deal like your husband; she has the same eye color and bone structure as you. If there’s nothing else I’ve learned in all my years of working with youth, there’s no greater desire than wanting to belong and having a family.” Helen watched the man continue on his way as he closed the door; he looked at her one last time before winking and disappearing. Helen turned to look back at the child, the peaceful face she’d studied for the past month, knowing the maternal side of her magic was reaching out and trying to wrap itself around the girl. She’d known her feeling of protectiveness and love for Hermione had grown, and now Helen realized what she was meant to do. Standing from the chair she’d spent countless hours in, Helen hurried from the room to write to her husband. If there were one thing she could promise sweet Hermione, she would be taken care of, which would be one less worry off the poor girl’s shoulders.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
ST. MUNGO’S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES, JANUS THICKEY WARD; 26TH JUNE 1
Hermione patted her hair down, looking herself over in the mirror as she prepared to leave the hospital. Her hair was brushed back into gently coiled curls, whatever potion had been gifted to her, maintaining the brown locks so that she looked stylish and not disheveled. All the cuts and bruises that had marred her body had been healed. All except Hermione's eyes lingered at her sternum, though hidden from sight, Hermione winced at the pain from the purple scar Healer Walters hadn't been able to do anything about. Eyeing herself, Hermione couldn't help but grimace at the state of her clothing. There were scorch marks and holes in both her denim and the sweater she was wearing. Even though they had been cleaned, Hermione thought it was odd that she could still smell the burning of dark curses on the cloth. "Are you just about ready?" The kind voice that Hermione had begun to associate with Helen Greengrass broke through her thoughts, causing Hermione to turn to face the woman. Madam Greengrass had been so kind towards her ever since she'd woken just over a week ago, going as far as to offer Hermione to stay with her when she was set to be discharged. "I haven't any money to pay for the services–" Hermione began, but Helen only held up her hand to stop her. "Everything has been taken care of. Now, Hector, that's my husband, and I are working towards becoming your legal guardians until your birth parents can be found. Without you knowing your family name, we did want your permission before legally making you Hermione Greengrass. This can change when your parents are found, and your true records are located." Helen stated, stepping towards Hermione but not so close that she was invading her space. "Are you sure you want to do that?" Hermione asked, shuffling her feet, "I mean, you hardly know me and–" "And my magic formed a bond with yours already. There's no question or doubt in my mind that I’m meant to step in and care for you; I'm much more concerned about you and your well-being." Helen said, her sage green eyes soft as she smiled in Hermione's direction. Her light brown hair was pulled into a twisted bun at the back of her head, and she was dressed in a brilliant set of pale yellow robes. "We want you to come to our home and decide if it'll be comfortable for you before we file anything with the Ministry. However, your appearance has some legal questions that the DMLE would like you to come and answer. That's why I'd like to take guardianship before that interview happens formally, so Hector and I can be with you since you are still underage for a few months yet." "I appreciate your help, Madam Greengrass–" "Please, call me Helen." "Alright then, Helen," Hermione said, testing the name on her tongue. It felt natural, almost comforting in the sense that she couldn’t understand. "I'm ready to go when you are." She told the woman, whose face lit up at the opportunity to show Hermione her home. The older witch flicked her wand, packing up what little possessions Hermione now had that had all been gifts given to her by Helen Greengrass as she motioned for Hermione to follow her. Hermione did as was expected of her and followed the witch from the room and into the main lobby of the hospital floor. The lights were too bright, and the sounds of the visitors and patients were too loud, causing Hermione to close her eyes and reach out to hold the witch’s arm as pain crashed into her head. “It’s common for someone with a brain injury like yours to experience sensitivity. We’ll get you home,” Helen replied, her explanation and soft tone comforting Hermione just before being tapped on the top of her head with the matron’s wand. Instantly, the sounds of the hospital became muted, and out of curiosity, Hermione blinked her eyes open to see that the lights appeared dimmed and the excess of people hustling around her blurred out. Hermione looked up at the witch, who smiled softly down at her but didn’t respond verbally. She only patted the top of her hand in a comforting gesture. When they reached the fireplace, Hermione expected Helen to release her and give her instructions on how to get where they were going. Instead, Helen ushered Hermione into the hearth with her before throwing down the powder and calling out, “Greengrass Estate!”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
GREENGRASS ESTATE, EAST SUSSEX, ENGLAND; 26TH JUNE 1977
The pair of witches stepped through the fireplace and out of the warm emerald flames. Hermione gasped slightly at the sight before her as her vision cleared. The sitting room they stepped into was warm yellow, with plush furniture that looked comfortable and inviting. A chandelier hung in the center of the room, and candles burned to light the space, giving it an orange glow that made the home feel inviting. “Welcome home,” Helen said, smiling at Hermione as she helped her from the hearth. “Hector’s grandfather built this after the original property that stood here was burned down in a horrific Fiendfire accident; it took all the buildings and animals that lived here. Thankfully, no one was home then, so the entire family survived, but it was still very hard on them. The Greengrass family has always raised Abraxan, so the loss devastated us and the entire wizarding community. It’s taken years, but we’re finally back to where the family was before the fire. Now, come, the tour.” The witch continued talking about her family and their operations, giving Hermione more history as they toured the home. Helen led Hermione through each room, and Hermione wasn’t shocked to see so much color filling the space as she got to know the matron better. Each room was wallpapered and decorated with reds, blues, and greens, with each color being the central focus of the design of the rooms. It was easy to feel the joy in the home and that it wasn’t just another house. The family here clearly loved each other, and the welcoming nature helped put Hermione at ease. “This will be where you’re staying,” Helen said, stopping outside one of the upstairs rooms. “We have a few house elves on staff. Evie, Tilly, and Abby are the ones that will help you get settled. You can call them if you need anything, and they’ll answer. I’ll leave you be," Helen told her, nodding slightly before backing out of the room and shutting the door. Hermione looked around, noting the large bed with a plush white comforter. The pale purple walls had a white floral overlay, making it look like lace was draped against them. The bay windows overlooked the vast property cleared pastures for the giant winged horses and were lined with forests that expanded further than she could see. It made Hermione wonder just how wealthy the Greengrass family was and why they would want to take in an orphaned teenage girl with no memory of her past. Going to her ensuite, Hermione gaped at the claw-foot tub in the center of the room. It was so large it was meant for multiple adults or one enormous person, making her consider taking a midday bath. Putting that on her to-do list, Hermione went to the sink to see what supplies she might need to stock up on her next shopping trip. Slowly blinking, she was shocked to find an assortment of different hair products for her to try. She couldn’t remember what she used on her hair to control the mass of curls. The shampoo St. Mungo had provided only made her hair wild and curly, making her look slightly mad until Helen had arrived with her arms full of products that had tamed Hermione's hair into the stylish and soft curls they now were. Curiosity took over, and Hermione searched through the wardrobe and dresser in the bedroom. Because if Helen had gone to the trouble of making sure she had hair products stocked specifically for Hermione, she couldn’t help but wonder what else the witch had already done to prepare for Hermione coming to stay. As she shifted through the new belongings, Hermione found everything was in her size. Helen had even provided various clothing options, from formal dress robes to casual muggle-style clothing. Nothing had been missed, making Hermione wonder just how she would ever repay Helen and the kindness she was being shown. A soft pop behind her had Hermione turning in shock, her hand clutching her chest as she faced three identical house elves. With large bat-like ears, bright blue eyes, and tiny button noses, the elves each wore a pillowcase in different colors. "Mistress told Evie she was bringing home a Missy for us to care for!" The one in a sage green uniform announced, bouncing on the balls of her feet, clapping her hands together. “Mistress tells the truth! A new Missy is here!” "What Evie means to say," the one wearing sky blue said, narrowing her eyes at the first elf, "is Tilly and her sisters are very pleased to meet you." "Abby is pleased to have a girl to care for. Master Hyperion is no fun to dress up and says he's too old for our silly games." The third elf said, giving a curtsy, her yellow uniform billowing out as if it were a dress. “New Missy doesn’t look too old for Abby and Evie to play with.” "I presume you're the Greengrass house elves?" Hermione inquired, as unnecessary as it was. A part of her twitched at the idea of house elves as she recalled obscure facts about their historically poor treatment and lack of fair wages and personal time. However, as this information flowed through her mind, Hermione couldn't help but notice how clean and put together these three elves were. They were nothing like what was described in the pages upon pages she could recall reading; she did not feel anything like she was in charge in their presence, but more like they were overly eager aunts wanting to dote on her. "We are," the one in blue, Tilly, said, slightly bowing her head. "Our family has always cared for the Greengrass family; we have been here since Master Hector was a boy. We assist with all the household tasks while the grounds are cared for by our father, Kipper, and brother Zipp." The tiny elf explained with her hands clasped in front of her. "Oh, I see. Well, it is very nice to meet you all," Hermione told the sisters, being sincere. When none of them made another move, waiting for Hermione, she squirmed in her shoes. Finally, unable to take the awkward silence any longer, Hermione thought of a request that would be helpful because, much to Evie’s dismay, Hermione did not want to play dress up. "If it isn't a bother, please collect all the newspapers from the past year. I'm a bit behind on my current events, you see, and–" "Is not a problem, Missy Hermione," Evie said, cutting Hermione off. "Would you like the Daily Prophet, or would Missy like all newspapers?" "Could we perhaps start with a bit of an assortment from across the U.K.? Muggle and magical publication, if it's not too much trouble, that is," Hermione finished. "Not trouble at all," Abby said, dipping low again. "We will deliver what you ask for this evening. Is there anything else Missy wishes from us?" "No, no, that will be all, thank you," Hermione told them. With one little bow from each, the trio disappeared with a soft pop, leaving Hermione alone once again. Returning to the window, looking out at the beautiful green landscape, Hermione wondered how she would piece her life together, especially when she didn’t know where to start.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT, INTERROGATION ROOM 3; 28TH JUNE 1977
“Ms. Greengrass,” Mr. Crouch snarled as if her new name left a foul taste in his mouth. Though, it most likely did. “You can’t expect me to believe this story you’ve woven.” The older man with a bushy mustache growled in an interrogation room from the other side of the table. Hermione’s hands were sweating, and to calm herself, she rubbed them against the fine pale blue robes that Helen had insisted she wear. Hermione's hair had been neatly arranged into a chiffon at the base of her neck, with a few curls left framing her face. Helen had worked with Tilly that morning to ensure that any makeup Hermione wore wouldn't make her appear too mature, leaning into the more neutral tones and soft pinks to highlight that Hermione was still an underage witch and not of age yet. The tactic worked on the other Aurors Hermione had spoken with, as they had been kind and sympathetic to the girl who had lost her memories; Mr. Crouch, however, was not swayed. “I apologise, Mr. Crouch, but I truly don’t know where I came from or even where I was found.” Hermione sniffed and rubbed her hand under her nose. Even with the aid of magic, her injuries were still causing her pain, and whatever brain injury that had caused her to forget her whole life’s history still had her feeling sensitive to sounds and lights. Both of which were being amplified in this room. “We could always use a bit of Veritaserum, with the magnitude of this case–” “Crouch,” Hermione jumped in her seat, looking up at the man whose curly brown hair and dark brown eyes nearly perfectly matched hers. Hermione had just met Hector Greengrass when their solicitor had arrived for the adoption proceedings at the Greengrass estate that morning. She was shocked that he had, without any hesitation, signed the documents and added his family’s seal to give her all legal rights as their daughter. “If you’re going to threaten my child, I’d suggest you think about what might happen to this department in the wake of that.” Crouch sputtered, his face turning red, and his mustache hairs stuck out as if electricity shocked him. “You’ve seen from the Pensive that her memories are scrambled and useless now.” Hermione’s sudo mother supplied, her hand resting on the back of Hermione's chair protectively. “We are no closer to unlocking what her mind is hiding regardless of your demands. She is a mere child. A sixteen-year-old fifth-year couldn’t infiltrate the Department of Mysteries without help. You will be reasonable and see that due to the injuries she sustained by horrific dark magic, it is implausible that she is the culprit you are after.” “Mr. Crouch, we understand the severity of this breach in security,” said a solicitor different from the one who had performed the adoption ceremony. He pulled rolls of parchment from his case that he’d put together for this investigation. Indeed, without the Greengrass family backing her so fiercely, Hermione would most certainly be sitting in a holding cell awaiting trial with the evidence stacked against her, regardless of her lack of knowledge of events. The solicitor pushed a pair of spectacles up his nose and cleared his throat, finding exactly what he was looking for. “For this reason, the Greengrass family has come up with these terms to ensure that this information will not be released to the public.” Finding the scrolls he sought, the solicitor handed over the parchment for Mr. Crouch to examine. Hermione had been told what was included as a safety measure. The Greengrass family was to adopt Hermione, so she was legally a part of their family. That had already been done that morning. The next piece included an elaborate backstory about why no one in England would have known about a sixteen-year-old daughter from such an influential family. Being more progressive, it wouldn’t have been too much of a shock that they would have sought a private education for their daughter and not their son away from pureblood society. Their aspirations for any daughter would have veered away from the norm, which wouldn’t have surprised anyone who knew them. Finally, Hermione would turn seventeen in a few months and go to Hogwarts to finish her last two years of schooling. She was to test out of the fifth year and sit her OWLS, though they had no doubts that she’d passed since it seemed her factual mind was still fully intact. The reason behind this was also a natural answer for the Greengrass family. They’d want to allow their daughter at this point to integrate into English society after growing up without any of the prejudices that would have been commonly found among their peers. Helen had explained that when they’d been hopeful for a daughter, this had indeed been their plan for her, which they’d been open with their friends and acquaintances. For privacy reasons, the final piece is that everyone aware of Hermione’s truth must sign a non-disclosure agreement. The magic embedded in the accord would silence anyone from speaking of her case freely, including gossip and being forced into not relieving information. “You want my men to sign this!?” Crouch exclaimed, causing Hermione to lean away from the man. “This is outrageous!” “It’s for her protection and the privacy of the DOM.” The solicitor calmly explained, his eyes never leaving Crouch’s. “It’s standard practice, which you would know of being the department head. If you force my hand, I have no problem conversing with the Wizengamot and speaking to the Minister himself to force you into compliance.” The look on Crouch’s face made it clear that he was not pleased but had been forced into a corner. Snatching the quill, he scribbled down his signature and pushed away from the table. His eyes narrowed on Hermione, and she could feel how much of a danger he was to her, but for now, she was safe. “This isn’t over,” Crouch coolly stated, putting on the bowler hat he'd taken off when he'd first arrived. Sweeping from the room and leaving Hermione alone with her new parents and the solicitor, Hermione couldn't help but wonder what might be in store next for her.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
GREENGRASS ESTATE, EAST SUSSEX, ENGLAND; 26TH JULY 1977
“Hermione dear,” Helen called from downstairs. “Hermione, the owls just arrived. One from the Ministry with your test scores and another from Hogwarts with your letter.” Hermione looked up from the book she’d been curled up reading, trying to find what would interest her and what classes she would want to enroll in to sit NEWTS for. Helen had informed her that after finishing their fifth year and sitting OWLS, most pureblood witches either left school entirely to marry or took a few classes, such as divination, to continue socializing. When Hermione scowled at that, Helen laughed and patted Hermione's shoulder, leaving Hermione in the family library to explore the various subject material. The first book Hermione found was Hogwarts: A History. Thinking that it would be logical to start by learning more about the place where she would be spending the majority of her time, Hermione picked up the book, expecting to skim it. Hermione was absorbed into the material only after curling up next to the fireplace. It was like she was speaking with an old friend; something comforting about the words that she could so easily find herself in a place of serenity. Books hadn't been the only place Hermione had tried to find herself recently. She had even gone with Hector to a Quidditch game, though she’d found the entire thing utterly dull and not something that kept her interest, and about halfway through, she'd pulled out a book on creatures and read that instead. The rules were brutal and made absolutely no sense. Why would one position be given so much power to sway the game, rendering the rest of the team entirely worthless? After that, she’d tried horseback riding with Helen, and that had also been a failure. Anything that included flight seemed like a horrible idea since if a structure under her feet did not fully support her, Hermione found her heart racing. Hyperion had tried coaxing Hermione to try broom riding with him, and Hermione had walked back to the conservatory to curl up in the sunlight with a book instead. Along with the failures, Hermione found that she possessed some talents. She hadn’t been a horrible dancer. She’d been relatively graceful, and the steps had come easily to her. She’d also been adept at the piano and violin, which had pleased Helen. Academics, however, were indeed where Hermione thrived the most. After being allowed to review coursework for a few weeks, Hermione sat her OWLS to determine her education level. With her age, it was a reasonable expectation. Still, after the interrogation at the ministry, Hermione had shut herself away. She studied until her eyes burned, and she had argued that two weeks was not a reasonable prep time for such vital exams. However, with the start of the new Hogwarts year rapidly approaching, there hadn't been more time for her to prepare herself. Hermione jumped from her desk and shoved a piece of parchment into the book to save her place. She went down the hall to the railing. Looking into the foyer, Helen stood before the oversized fireplace, holding two large envelopes. “Are you about ready to know how you did?” Helen asked, smiling up at Hermione with a quirked brow. Not needing to be told twice, Hermione rushed down the staircase and around the railing to where Helen stood. Ignoring her Hogwarts letter, Hermione ripped open the message from the ministry, and her eyes scanned the grades. Not knowing what courses she might be interested in due to the memory loss, Hermione had opted to take them all. The examiner at the ministry was shocked when Hermione elected to take twelve exams, not wanting to limit herself. It had taken her two weeks to take every exam, and Hermione had learned at least one thing about herself –she despised divination. Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Herbology, History of Magic, Muggle Studies, Potions, and Transfiguration Hermione was pleased to see that she had received an outstanding in each. In Defense Against the Dark Art and Divination, she had gotten an Exceeds Expectations. “That’s remarkable,” Helen exclaimed, her eyes wide as she looked at Hermione’s results. “You’ll be able to pursue any career or classes you wish to take at the NEWT level.” “I’m, I’m not entirely sure what sort of career I might be interested in,” Hermione admitted, overwhelmed by how vast her choices were. “Was there anything you know you wouldn’t want to continue studying?” Helen asked, taking Hermione’s hand and leading her to the couch. “Muggle Studies and Divination,” Hermione answered quickly. The information for muggle studies had been, well, it’d seemed almost childish. Hermione knew of science and mathematics that were done by muggles. She knew of their medical field and how fascinating it was. However, from what she'd studied in preparation, this course viewed muggles as simple zoo creatures rather than something of any interest. It had been off-putting. Divination, on the other hand, was just utter rubbish. She had sat with the ministry proctor, and after answering the questions for the exam with ease, she’d then been given a crystal ball to gaze into and make some hogwash prediction. She’d even made the whole thing up and still had received an E. “That still leaves ten courses you’re interested in,” Helen commented, waving her hand to summon a piece of parchment and quill. “We’ll need to narrow that down slightly more still, I'm afraid.” “Charms, DADA, Herbology, Transfiguration, and Potions would certainly all be valuable to continue for whatever career I decide.” Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, looking over the rest of her options laid out before her. “Well, that fills up five of your seven courses and a respectably full schedule if you don’t want to take more,” Helen wrote down Hermione’s classes. “There’s no need to have seven classes if you don’t wish.” “I can’t foresee myself having a career involving history,” Hermione said, still studying the list and available options. “Nor wanting to work with creatures, no offense.” “None taken,” Helen smiled, looking up at her, but then wrote down what Hermione had said. “Truly, I’m torn. Runes are fascinating, as is arithmancy,” Hermione told Helen, who wrote those two down in the yes column. “But astronomy–” Hermione cut herself off, thinking of all the wonders of space that she could recall. However, it didn’t fit with the wizarding world for some reason. It was too muggle and scientific to be placed in the curriculum she'd reviewed to sit the OWL. “So, astronomy instead of runes?” Helen asked, glancing up at her, but Hermione shook her head. "No, if there is time allowed, I'd like to take all three..." Hermione trailed off, looking at Helen with wide eyes. "Do you think eight-" Helen reached out, covering Hermione's hands in her lap with one of her own, and gave the soft, comforting smile Hermione had come to know was the witch's normal state. “I think we have our list then,” Helen stated; she pulled out the much larger and thicker envelope that had been sent from Hogwarts. Hermione carefully opened the heavy and delicate seal, her hands trembling for some unexplainable reason. Pulling the heavy parchment from the envelope, she unfolded it as if she'd done it once before, though she couldn't recall the memory.
Dear Ms. Greengrass,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
DIAGON ALLEY, LONDON, ENGLAND; 30TH JULY 1977
Helen had encouraged Hermione to get dressed for the day so they could head into London and shop. Hermione had initially been reluctant, seeing as shopping when one didn’t have money sounded dreadfully dull, but Helen had insisted. What’s the point of having a daughter if I’m not allowed to spoil her? At that point, Hermione had dipped her head in defeat, her cheeks turning a bright scarlet, and Hector chuckled next to his wife, though his eyes never left the paper he was reading. Now Hermione could see why Hector had found shopping with Helen as amusing as he did once the trio emerged into Diagon Alley. Hector kissed his wife and adopted daughter on their cheeks before going to a little cafe with outdoor seating. The iron table and chairs were shaded from the sun by using large umbrellas, and a lush garden spilled over the fence and off the establishment's roof, making it very welcoming and appealing. “Isn’t there anything that he wants to look at?” Hermione asked, but Helen shook her head in the negative and gestured towards the man Hector had just seated himself across from. “That’s Razin Lestrange. They will sit there and discuss politics, the weather, Quidditch, and the usual men's things. I suspect Razin’s wife is in the district with their youngest son; I believe he’ll enter his sixth or seventh year. They have two sons; their eldest has been out of Hogwarts for some time, and I believe he recently married. We’ll likely see a handful of your new classmates while we get your books. Come along; no need to stand around and watch your father talk of meaningless things.” After that, Hermione found herself in a world filled with the brightest colors, young children racing away from their mothers while laughing, and magical creatures almost everywhere. The sights and sounds were new. Hermione did not see anything she recognized, or that jogged her memory, but she couldn't shake the lingering sensation that it was so familiar—almost as if she had been here before. Her mother took her into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions to have Hermione fitted for her school robes. While Madam Malkin herself worked with Hermione, pinning and measuring Hermione for the standard Hogwarts-issued uniform, her mother stopped to talk to Lady Malfoy, who was also shopping with her daughter going into her sixth year. With her wide pale blue eyes and bright white hair, the girl seemed to have minimal awareness of personal space when coming into the fitting room Hermione was occupying. “I’ve never seen you around before,” the daughter said, ignoring Hermione's shrill scream as she rushed to cover herself with her discarded blouse. Hermione hadn’t heard the other witch's approach, as if she floated instead of walking. As if she was unaware of Hermione's current undress, the other witch continued while Hermione pulled the sleeveless top she'd been wearing over her head. “I’m Pandora Malfoy.” “Hermione Greengrass.” The reply wasn’t much, nor did it invite further conversation, but it didn’t deter the girl. “I didn’t realize the Greengrass family had a daughter. How interesting. It’s reasonable that they’d want to keep you from society until you were nearly ready to be presented, as it does become tiresome with all the families wanting to make a match." Hermione had no idea what this girl was talking about, having never heard of such barbaric things outside the handful of historical romance novels she could recall reading. Amusement lit up the other girl's face at Hermione's apparent distaste for what she'd just said, prompting her to continue explaining. "The Lestrange family has been after my hand since my birth was announced. Though Papa isn’t against the union, he seems more inclined to support his friend Lord Nott’s bid since his second wife tragically passed away last year. It's such a shame and tragedy since Genevieve had been one of my mother's close friends when they'd been in school at Beauxbatons.” “Wait," Hermione asked, her attention being pulled in by the witch's statement. "Your father wants you to marry his friend? As in, a man his age?” Hermione asked, her nose scrunching in disgust at the idea. “Oh yes, a union between the Malfoy and Nott families would be most agreeable in my father’s eyes. Also, Lord Nott has yet to sire an heir, so he will have to marry again and not stay a widow.” “That sounds awful,” Hermione commented, but Pandor only hummed before looking towards the door where her mother awaited her. Without saying anything else, the girl floated to her mother, and the pair were out the door, their robes flowing behind them. Hermione was left nearly speechless, unsure how she felt about Pandora Malfoy. But again, Hermione had the strange feeling of familiarity, though it wasn’t quite right. “Pandora will be in your year,” Helen supplied, approaching Hermione and adjusting the collar of the shirt Hermione had managed to slip back into. “She’s in Ravenclaw like her mother had been. Hm, what do you think of the robes?” “I’d like them more if there were pockets,” Hermione confessed, looking up at the robes she'd been fitted in. “Pockets? What an interesting idea; I don’t see why they couldn’t be added.” Helen waved over the seamstress to give the instructions, which, by the look on the other witch’s face, was not a usual request. With the robes ordered and the alterations to include pockets added in the notes, Hermione and Helen stepped out into the bright street. Hermione turned and began walking north with Helen trailing behind her. “I still need to get my textbooks,” Hermione explained. Shock flashed over Helen’s face, but she didn’t say anything, and the pair continued onward up the street in the right direction of the bookshop. A shop which Hermione should have had no idea of its location. The large brick building overflowing with students, parents, and books came into view, and Hermione couldn’t contain herself as she hurried her steps. Flourish and Blotts, the sign over the door read, and Hermione skipped inside with Helen chuckling behind her. With her list of all the required texts in hand, Hermione was once again puzzled by how her feet knew exactly where to go. Quickly, she found herself in the potions section, though she had no recognition of ever having been here before. It was the strangest feeling; how she knew where to go as though this was a place she knew and had spent hours here before. Even selecting her books for her classes was oddly familiar for her. The list in her hand wasn’t all she found herself selecting off the shelves. In addition to the textbooks, Hermione quickly found hidden reference books that would be useful throughout the year. How she knew that 800 Different Magical Herbs and Fungi was excellent extra reading for her herbology class was utterly beyond her. However, Hermione felt the title wasn’t exactly right, but it was the newest copy of the text, so she conceded that perhaps she was remembering incorrectly; she'd swore it was 1000 and not 800. Turning with her arms overflowing, Hermione didn’t even notice the boy who had come up behind her while she’d been lost on the shelves. She crashed into him, all her selections spilling onto the floor and toppling over multiple stacks of books that were the extra stock. Looking at the mess, Hermione could feel her heart drop. It had taken her hours to sort through the stacks and find everything she wanted to purchase—or, if not, at least read through before she left the shop. Dropping to her knees, Hermione could feel tears brimming. It was going to take ages… “Are you alright, Miss..?” A male voice asked above her. Hermione looked up, startled by his sudden appearance, though she supposed it wasn’t all that sudden since she had run into the boy. She’d just forgotten about him. “Yes, sorry,” Hermione said, standing up and brushing the tears away from her eyes. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The boy chuckled, shaking his head slightly, his longer black wavy hair falling into his face. When he looked up at her, Hermione felt her breath catch as she stepped back. His eyes were the most beautiful pale gray she’d ever seen. He was one of the most enchanting boys she'd ever seen, with slightly tanned skin, high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a straight nose. But that wasn’t what caused her shock. Hermione was once again faced with someone oddly familiar, but simultaneously, it was all wrong. She noted that his face was too round, and his nose was too straight, with no signs of ever being broken. His expression was much too severe, and there were not enough joy or laugh lines. He wasn’t exactly who she knew, but he was related to…the person’s name was lost to her as she studied him. “Who are you?” She asked, tilting her head, still trying to place him. This must not have been what he thought she would say because his thick brows raised at her direct question. Hermione could feel her cheeks flush, fearing momentarily that she’d offended him, but he answered before she could amend her statement. “Regulus Black, it's a pleasure to meet you.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
FLOURISH AND BLOTTS, DIAGON ALLEY, LONDON, ENGLAND; 30TH JULY 1977
The boy looked at Hermione as if he expected her to know who he was, but truthfully, his name meant nothing to her. She gave him a tight smile and extended her hand, not knowing what he was expecting from her, but this was the wrong way to exchange pleasantries from the way his mouth turned downward in a frown. “Hermione Greengrass,” she said, lowering her hand when he didn’t take it. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” her tone rising in pitch as she realized how uncomfortable he was making her. He stood there staring at her as if she were a piece of art in a museum, causing Hermione to fidget with the hem of her dress, glancing away from his assessing gaze. “I didn’t realize the Greengrass family had a daughter,” Regulus said, drawing her to peer back at him. His head tilted ever so slightly, exposing his tanned neck from the high collar of his robes. “How old are you?” “Sixteen…” Hermione answered, a bit taken aback by how direct he was. “How old are you?” She snipped, feeling it was only fair to ask him the same questions he did about her. The boy merely smirked at her rudeness, but he still obliged. “I’m sixteen as well,” he answered smoothly, his voice like silk as he leaned in much closer than Hermione was comfortable with for someone she wasn’t well acquainted with. “I’m curious how I’ve never known of your existence, seeing as you’re a member of the sacred twenty-eight and, in theory, should have been at Hogwarts presumably in my year, if not my brother’s.” Hermione swallowed the lump forming in her throat, stepping away from him, but her back hit the shelves behind her, trapping her. She looked between his gray eyes, feeling as if he were stripping away every layer of her, though she didn’t know him well enough for there to be any layers for him to examine. As it was, Hermione wet her lips with her tongue, a motion that did not go unnoticed by the young Mr. Black as she recalled the cover story that had been artfully woven for her to give. It was regrettable that Regulus Black was the first person that she had to repeat it aloud to as he seemed very interested in her answer. “I was educated privately by my mother’s aunt in Australia. I sat my OWLs at the ministry so that I can be placed in NEWT classes at Hogwarts this coming year.” Hermione answered the question with the simple story that her parents had constructed for her. A country on the other side of the world where no one would have easily been able to run across her. Conveniently enough, Helen did have an eccentric aunt she was close with who resided there. The aunt had been more than happy to agree with the story if anyone was inclined to ask after Hermione. Not having any children of her own, Aunt Leda had always considered Helen more of a daughter than a niece and was tickled that she now also seemed to have a granddaughter. “I recall my mother complaining that the Greengrass family was very secretive of their children. Not even your brother spends much time mingling with the rest of society as he should, seeing as he will be stepping into his role within the Wizengamot soon.” Black said, leaning in to study Hermione’s face as if she were some curious creature he was determined to learn about. “It’ll be the talk of the ton to have such a beauty coming of age next season. When did you say your birthday was?” Hermione swallowed, feeling very much out of place in this world. “I didn’t say,” she replied, which only caused the boy in front of her to smile wide at her. “Very well,” Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as he began to back away from her. Hermione’s body tensed up when he pulled his wand from a holster out of his sleeve, which he noticed and caused another smirk. A flick of his wand and a muttered spell she couldn’t hear had all of the books she'd selected into a neat pile on the floor. What would have certainly taken at least an hour to sort through, he'd managed to do in mere moments. He swiftly bent over and gathered the stack for her, pulling a basket off the floor and placing her books inside. Hermione reached for the basket, but Regulus clicked his tongue, pulling it out of her reach. “Allow me to carry these for you and then pay for them. It's the least I could do for the lady after causing you such fright and distress.” Hermione’s jaw clenched, feeling like the offer had a deeper meaning, but she couldn’t figure it out for her life. Helen's voice cut through her mind, reminding her that her pride would do no good and that she should accept help when offered. “This doesn’t mean you expect me to pay you back, does it?” Hermione questioned, narrowing her eyes slightly in his direction. She had books in there that she hadn’t genuinely intended to purchase but only read through before returning to the estate. Hermione wasn't willing to take advantage of Helen's generosity. However, this Regulus Black was such a thorn in her side already that she didn't have the same reserves, even though she hoped to offend him with her absurdly large purchase. “Think of this as my apology,” he purred, giving her a wink that caused a flush to creep up her neck. Who was this boy… “In that case, I suppose,” Hermione answered, reaching for the basket again, her nostrils flaring when he pulled it out of her reach again. “I wasn't finished with my shopping at any rate; I won't expect you to buy everything I select.” “Ms. Greengrass, I insist you allow me to purchase everything of your heart's desire from this shop and the privilege of carrying your basket.” Hermione's instincts told her that this wasn't just a simple offer again, but something was simmering under the surface. Regulus raised a brow in question after she'd admittedly paused for too long. With a sigh, Hermione nodded in agreement and continued exploring the stacks. Dutifully and as he promised, Regulus followed silently behind her, accepting every new book she pulled from the shelf without complaint. She even grabbed a few that she had no interest in reading to see if he would say anything in opposition, but still, he just accepted the books as they moved along. Finally, after another hour, Hermione deemed her shopping completed. She turned towards Regulus, who had not said another word as he’d followed her through the various rows, now carrying multiple baskets that were all past capacity. Truthfully, she’d expected him to, at some point, set everything on the ground and slip away while she was distracted, but he did no such thing. He stood with his shoulders pulled back and his head held high, waiting in line next to her. The people around them were taking notice of Hermione with Regulus, whoever he was. She assumed being with him must have been significant because the whispers around them had increased, and she could feel the stares from everyone as she moved toward the register. Guilt crept in more as they moved in front of the clerk. Helen had asked Hermione if she needed help shopping, but she had declined, telling her adopted mother she’d rather be alone while she browsed. Helen hadn’t seemed offended at Hermione’s requests for privacy, promising she’d be waiting in the lounge area when she was ready to check out. Instead of doing as Helen had expected, Hermione accepted what was sure to be a costly gift from a boy she’d just met. “Mr. Black!” the elderly woman behind the counter exclaimed when she saw Regulus. “Did your mother have another order for you to pick up?” she asked, which caused Hermione some confusion. Hadn’t he been shopping for his new school books as well? If not, why had he been in the depths of the shop with her? “Oh no, Beatrice,” he said, his voice smooth as honey, “I’m just escorting Ms. Greengrass here and offered to carry her selections.” At that, he set all three baskets down on the counter. “You may charge all of these to my account, not the family one.” The hush that fell over the people surrounding them had Hermione regretting her decision to allow him to make this purchase for her, but she was in too deep now to back out. As the number of books climbed, and so did the total, Hermione could feel her face flush even more. Sixty-three books and an embarrassingly high cost later, Hermione felt utterly self-conscious about her actions. “Beatrice, if you wouldn’t mind having all those shipped directly to the Greengrass Estate, I would greatly appreciate it. You can add the delivery charge to my tab as well.” Hermione’s face was indeed a deep crimson at this point, all the women in their fancy hats and beautiful robes whispering behind their gloved hands and motioning in her direction. Stepping out of the shop and onto the street, Hermione’s head hung down as she looked at her feet, too mortified to meet Regulus’s stare. “You didn’t have to do all that for an apology,” Hermione muttered. “I’d offered, and you are the one who continued to make selections,” Regulus smoothly stated, tightening Hermione's chest with the observation. “Who was I to discourage your academic pursuits?” “Still, but thank you,” Hermione mumbled, glancing up at Regulus, who was again smirking at her obvious embarrassment. “You can make it up to me in another way,” Regulus supplied. He reached into his robes and pulled out an emerald green handkerchief. Before Hermione could ask what he was doing, he tapped the material with his wand, transforming it into a thornless red rose. “Until we meet again,” he said, handing the rose to her, and then he was gone.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
GREENGRASS ESTATE, EAST SUSSEX, ENGLAND; 30TH JULY 1977
After Regulus Black had left Hermione standing in the middle of Diagon Alley with the single transfigured rose, she’d returned to the shop to find Helen. As promised, her adopted mother awaited her in deep conversation with another woman. Helen greeted Hermione with a smile that slid from her face when she spotted the rose in her hand. Embarrassed by still holding the damn thing, Hermione quickly shoved it into her bag, trying to brush off the significance of it, but Helen was no fool. That led to Hermione confessing about the events that had taken place, with Regulus Black finding her wandering the stacks, followed by him purchasing all the books she'd selected. Instead of being happy that Hermione had met someone who was very overly generous, Helen's face had grown steadily more flushed with anger as the story unfolded. That was when Hermione learned precisely what game the young Mr. Black had been playing. “He bought her over sixty books, Hector! In front of everyone!” Helen, whom Hermione had never seen out of sorts, shouted as she stormed around the small kitchen, putting a kettle on the stove. “Of course, Hermione had no idea what he was doing! She might as well be walking around with the Black family crest on her cloak now. Or worse, on a choker! I bet that boy is already at Gringotts picking one out from his family's vault!” “Helen, please calm yourself, darling,” Hector said, though Hermione could tell he was also unhappy about what had transpired. “I’ve already written Orion, though I’m not expecting much response.” Hermione was thoroughly confused by her parents' adverse reaction, though she was wise to keep that thought to herself for the moment. It wasn't as if she'd agreed to marry him or do anything besides walk around looking at books with him. He hadn't even stood that close to her while she was picking out her books and only coming close enough to allow Hermione to fill the baskets he'd dutifully carried. He'd stood too close when they'd first encountered, but afterward, he'd kept a respectable distance. “And you were alone with him for a while?” Hector asked, his attention turning to Hermione. She slowly nodded, wholly bewildered as to why that was even a concern. It wasn't as if they lived in the Victorian Era, where young women weren't allowed to be alone with men without a chaperone present. Right? “Orion Black is a sniveling little worm. I can smell Walburga all over this sort of underhanded maneuvering! Especially after how she treated poor Sirius, blaming it on Alphard’s influence. She, of course, would want her pride and joy to prey on innocent young women!” Helen was throwing around names and insults, and Hermione found herself speechless. Helen had always been the picture of grace and poise, never a hair out of place or anything other than understanding. This new side of her had Hermione completely bewildered and thankful that she wasn't this Walburga woman. Hector, though, appeared to understand Helen’s frustrations fully and just sighed. His whiskey-colored eyes met hers, and he gave her a soft smile, patting the top of her hand in a loving gesture that surprised Hermione. “We should have instructed you on some of the more outdated parts of our society before allowing you to shop without a chaperone.” Hermione’s brows scrunched together in confusion to show that she really and honestly had no idea what the problem was. Good heavens, was she living in some backward Victorian Era and not realizing it? “By purchasing you a gift of a particular value ranging around thirty galleons, in this case, books, he shows that he is courting you or intending to court you and that you are not eligible for anyone else’s attention. This would usually be done after his father had spoken with your father and had gotten permission to enter into a courtship.” Helen spat, setting a tea tray up, setting the cups and saucers up much rougher than usual, causing fine China to clank against the silver tray. "This is what our pureblood society dictates and why we swore if we ever had a daughter by birth, she wouldn't be subjected to such archaic traditions until she was able to form her own opinions." Hermione could feel her jaw drop at the information, not only because of what it meant but because Regulus had spent nearly sixty-four galleons on her books, plus whatever it had cost for the shipping. This couldn't be real life. This boy, whom she had just met, intended to court her, and Hermione didn't even know what that would entail. "Hm, I bet he was shocked when he saw you in trousers," Helen chuckled, setting the tea down with a plate of biscuits. "Pureblood women are only supposed to wear skirts or dresses; their great aspiration is to marry into a well-to-do family. A pureblood woman having a career? With all your classes this year, you fit right in with our family. Aunt Leda is a Magizoologist, so she moved out to Australia after she finished Hogwarts, and I'm a healer. A family of scandalous women." “Er, but...” Hermione trailed off, looking between Helen and Hector, clearing her throat and trying to remember how to breathe. While she appreciated that she'd somehow found herself being cared for by a family that embraced strong women, she still couldn't get past the fact that she had no idea what had transpired earlier in the shop. “What does it mean for me that Regulus intends to court me?” The adults shared a look that told Hermione they weren’t thrilled with the events about to occur, but they had to do it. “We should expect an invitation to a formal dinner to discuss your future," Hector explained just as a black owl appeared at their kitchen window. "I suspect that might be Orion now," he said, standing from the table to retrieve the letter attached to the bird's leg. Hermione's mouth felt dry as she watched Hector read the note, but Helen, setting her tea in front of her, returned her attention to the other witch. "No need to fret; the Black family doesn't intimidate us," Helen promised, but Hermione wasn't so sure she shared the sentiment as she remembered the appraising way Regulus had looked her over. The memory caused her body to shiver slightly, as did his cold gray eyes and how he held himself. However, when Hector let out a sigh and informed the women that they had been invited to dinner at the Black family home the night after next, Hermione promised herself that she'd show Regulus Black that she was not a woman to be taken lightly or to manipulate. She might not know who she was, but Hermione knew she wasn't a wallflower to be taken advantage of.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
12 GRIMMAULD PLACE, LONDON, ENGLAND; 5TH AUGUST 1977
Hermione stood between her parents; her hair plaited at the base of her neck, the long braid thrown over her shoulder, while a few extra strands framed her face. Her mother had pulled out an old dress from when her Aunt Leda was a girl. The dress had a high waist and a modest neckline, making her look plain and uninteresting. However, she thought she looked reasonably pretty. Helen profusely apologized but explained that the archaic nature of their society called for such dress, and Hermione nodded in understanding. Not that she did understand. She felt like she was out of time looking at herself with a dusting of makeup that just accentuated her cheekbones but did nothing to enhance her beauty. “Interesting place for the Black family to live,” her father observed as they stood on the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place. “For the amount of hate they have towards muggles and muggleborns, you’d think they’d want to live in the country.” Hermione was hardly listening to her parents because as she looked up at the door before her, she could feel a strange sense of being drawn here. It was just as it had been when she’d gone to Diagon Alley, as if she knew this place, and her magic reaffirmed the idea as it reacted happily to the familiarity. Why would this be the reaction caused by the ancestral home of the Black family? She’d felt nothing like this when she first came to the Greengrass Estate, which was now technically her family home since she'd been adopted. It was only now that her magic was beginning to relax in the estate in East Sussex, allowing her to find comfort in the warmth of the magical home. It wasn't something that came overnight, but here it felt like this was somewhere that she'd spent much time and was safe for her. It was very curious. However, her mind wasn’t allowed to wander far because the door was swung open all too soon to reveal the most haunted-looking house elf she’d ever seen. His long, crooked nose and scowling face were nothing like the Greengrass elves, who seemed more than happy to love and care for anyone they were directed towards. Instead, Hermione wondered if this particular elf might not be inclined to be a bit more deranged and dangerous. Or as destructive as a house elf could be to a witch or wizard. “My Mistress has been expecting you, filthy blood traitors,” the elf scowled and sneered, causing Hermione’s brows to shoot into her hairline. “Late after the honor of being invited into the home of the ancient and most noble house of Black, disgrace," the elf muttered, loud enough that he didn't care if his family's visitors heard him. None of the guests said a word and only followed the incredibly rude elf into the home. From Helen’s description of Mrs. Black, Hermione felt that the elf wouldn’t be punished for his actions but possibly praised if the woman had the ability to praise within her. And now they were being forced to sit and dine with that very woman, all because Hermione hadn’t thought there would be rules for accepting gifts from a rude boy. She only accepted gifts because she was trying to deter him by showing incredible rudeness herself by demanding much more than was appropriate to ask for. “I present the Greengrass family,” the elf croaked, bowing deeply in the drawing room doorway he’d brought them to. Again, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t living in the 70s but the Victorian Era because this was too much. “Helen, it's wonderful to see you,” Hermione heard a woman say, but her voice sounded much more scornful than pleased at having Helen Greengrass in her home. It took another moment before Hermione looked at the woman who’d spoken. Her curiosity got the best of her, and Hermione looked around her parents – who’d placed themselves protectively in front of her – and nearly pulled back at the sight of the woman. Unlike her son, this woman had nothing but contempt and an air of arrogance about her. Her nose was perfectly straight and came to a point so sharp that Hermione was sure it could have been used as a knitting needle. Her grey eyes were cold, and Hermione felt a shiver just looking at them, even though they weren’t turned on her. Her eyes, while the same color as her son's, didn't hold any of the same humane look and instead were beady and nearly like ice. She was unusually tall for a woman, but Hermione could tell she was very slender despite the dress she wore hiding her figure. Her cheekbones stuck out, and the scowl on her face and the deep frown lines told Hermione that this woman had most likely not found any joy or humor in her entire life. She quite resembled what Hermione would picture a crow to look like if it were to transform into a woman and then find itself stuck just before the transfiguration process was completed. “I daresay, Walburga, I wish I could share the sentiment.” Hermione slapped her hand to her mouth to muffle the snort of laughter. She hadn’t expected Helen to be overtly warm and gracious, but to be downright hostile, Hermione struggled to contain herself. “I suppose it’s no wonder your daughter prances around like a strumpet instead of being appropriately chaperoned,” the other woman snipped, her eyes narrowing to slits so small Hermione was shocked she could still see as her nose turned up and away from the visiting family. "You haven't changed in the slightest since our school days. What Regulus finds intriguing about your daughter, I can only imagine it has more to do with temptation than anything else." Hermione could feel the blood draining from her face in embarrassment, but it was quickly apparent that the adults wouldn’t just call the entire evening off even though none wanted to be there. “Hermione, love,” Hector said, drawing her attention to his uncharacteristically stern face. His usually playful whiskey-colored eyes were hard, and his stare was directed toward Mr. Black. However, the head of the Black family seemed utterly unphased or intimidated by Hector. “If you wouldn’t mind seeing yourself at the library for entertainment, You may call Tilly to act as the chaperone until dinner begins.” Giving a brief curtsy to each of the adults in the room, Hermione wasted no time arguing the point of staying. She had no desire to stick around and listen to the row that was certain to be coming. Walburga Black seemed like a cow, and Helen Greengrass was ready to take her to pasture, even if they were guests and she was in Walburga's home. She was safely in the hall before Hermione turned and watched the door close as the voices in the other room began to rise. It seemed Helen had more grievances with Mrs. Black than just how Regulus treated Hermione. However, as Hermione thought back to their interaction, she couldn't think of anything he'd done that was anything like how his parents were acting. He had been intrusive and arrogant, yes. He'd also tricked her into accepting his offer of courtship without her knowing what he was doing, which was rotten. But he'd never thrown horrible slang in her direction as his mother had just done. Simply put, Hermione didn’t mind that she wasn’t the sole topic of conversation being hashed out. Nor that she had been dismissed and would not be forced to witness it. Opening her mouth, Hermione was ready to do as she was asked and requested Tilly to join her, but Hermione decided against it quickly enough. She wasn’t particularly inclined to have someone watching over her shoulder right then, not after the insult Walburga had thrown at her cut so deeply. In her heart, Hermione could feel that this wasn’t the first time that someone had made such offensive suggestions about her character and her morals. It wasn’t that she particularly cared what Mrs. Black thought of her, but the last time this happened, the matriarch who had said such horrible things was someone Hermione had once admired. Though her head ached as it tried to bring that memory to the forefront of her mind, it just wasn’t there for her to grasp onto. It alluded to her, just as everything else about her life did. Cursing herself for feeling the heartache over an event that shouldn’t have mattered, Hermione stormed up the narrow stairwell hidden behind a nook where a grandfather clock was sitting. Against everything that should be logical, Hermione had just known that passage was there. Again, her feet seemed to know exactly where to take her in this strange house. The adults would be in blows soon, and as Hermione crept up the back stairwell, she knew she was venturing into a strictly off-limits area. She’d come to the third level of the home, and somehow, again, she just knew that the secret entrance into the library was just beyond the portrait hanging in front of her. Hermione reached out, her hand effortlessly passing through the backside of the painting, but stopped, turning around, sensing as if she weren’t alone any longer. However, she couldn't see anyone when she looked in the darkness. Truthfully, it was so dark and dimly lit that even if someone else had been walking through the passage, they wouldn’t have been able to see her unless they were pressed against her. Shaking her head, realizing how utterly ridiculous she was acting, Hermione turned her attention back to her destination and pushed through the carefully crafted illusion. Her body passed through without any resistance, and in seconds, Hermione dropped into the deepest parts of the Black Library. It was magnificent. The shelves disappeared into the ceiling, a ladder resting against the heavy oak, the only thing allowing someone to search the hidden gems on the highest shelves. She hummed in satisfaction, though wholly confused about how she’d found her way here without any guide. Pushing that thought aside, Hermione made her way into the stacks, searching for something to read while she waited for whatever disaster this evening was sure to be. That was if the event would proceed as planned since wands would undoubtedly be drawn at some point from what she’d heard as she’d left. Finding a handful of books to flip through, Hermione opened the first one and began to flip the pages reading in the personal journal of Newt Scamander. How the Black family had gotten their hands on such a treasure was beyond her, but Hermione couldn’t turn down so much knowledge being dropped in her lap. Not paying attention to where she was going, her body knowing the way, Hermione let out a scream when she slammed into a rigid figure. Her cry was muffled quickly by a giant hand clamping over her mouth as another arm wrapped around her waist and dragged her out of the central aisle and into a deserted row. Squirming against her captor, Hermione’s body froze when she heard the low rumble of Regulus’ voice and realized who she was intimately pressed against. However, it wasn’t his nearness that had caused her blood to turn cold, but the words he whispered into the shell of her ear. “I dare say, Ms. Greengrass. It seems we have matters to discuss.” Hermione’s eyes widened, looking up into the grey storm above her. “Such as how do you know the secrets of my ancestral home so well.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
12 GRIMMAULD PLACE, LONDON, ENGLAND; 5TH AUGUST 1977
The pit in Hermione’s stomach dropped as she stood pressed so intimately against Regulus Black that she could feel the outline of his body through the robes he was wearing. He wasn’t all muscles, but as he pushed harder against her, she could feel that he’d nearly fully shed his childish softness and was growing into the man he would become. It was dark, the candlelight from the central aisle illuminating his face, casting Regulus in shadows that made him look dangerous. “I won’t repeat myself,” he whispered, leaning in too close again. “How do you know your way around my home if you’ve never been here?” Hermione cursed herself for not doing as she’d been told and summoning Tilly. She should have known better than to wander around the home without someone watching her. It’d already been made clear what the opinions were of girls that did as they pleased and not as they should, according to Mrs. Black, not that Hermione gave a damn what she thought. However, she was currently a guest in that wretched woman’s home, and had she done as Hector had asked, Hermione wouldn’t have found herself pressed between a bookshelf and Regulus Black’s body. His hand lifted and squeezed her throat when Hermione didn’t respond, a warning that she’d better start talking soon. “I don’t know, I just found it,” Hermione answered weakly, her airway being cut off. “Please, I–I don’t know how I found it!” Hermione cried out, struggling to move away from him. “I wished to get away and lick my wounds after your mother called me an unsavory term, and I found the passage.” Hermione implored, but her heart rate increased when Regulus's grip only tightened. Hermione closed her eyes, finding it still hard to breathe as Regulus hadn’t let up his grip. If he was putting any more pressure, she knew that she would have bruised, but at the moment, he wasn’t being that rough with her as if that made things any better. “And what was it, if you don’t mind me asking you to repeat such an unsavory term that my mother called you?” Regulus seemed to buy the excuse that Hermione had given him and not push for a further explanation. It was a good thing, too, because Hermione had no reason beyond that she didn’t know. She couldn’t explain her connection to his home just as she couldn’t explain the rules of Pureblood courting. Hermione cleared her throat, causing it to rumble against his palm as she didn’t want to repeat the word, but it didn’t seem like she was being given a choice. “A strumpet, which I can assure you I am not.” “Hmm,” was the only reply he gave her. His hold on her tightened momentarily, causing spots to appear in her vision before finally releasing her. For some unknown reason, that only infuriated Hermione more. “Is that all you have to say?” Hermione snapped, her nostrils flaring at the humiliation. “You trick me into a public show of courtship, which forced myself and my parents to come to your home, and the first few words out of your mother’s mouth are an insult at me, and all you can say to it is ‘hmm’!?” The grey eyes peered down at her as if piercing Hermione’s soul, delving into the depths and hidden parts she was unaware of. Damn him, and damn these games, he seemed to insist on playing with her. Hermione pushed at his chest, catching the boy off guard and forcing him to tumble away from her just enough that Hermione could slip under his arm and move past him to begin her way back towards the center aisle. She didn’t need this; she didn’t need to put up with how he was already treating her and manhandling her at every turn. Her adoptive parents didn’t need to subject themselves to an evening having tea with that vile woman, and Hermione didn’t even feel the slightest inclination to care about the rules of pureblood society. For all Hermione knew, perhaps she wasn’t even a pureblood. This would explain why none of this senseless knowledge lingered in her mind. A chaperone, Hermione scoffed to herself, nearly at the end of the row now as if a woman was incapable of keeping her virtue intact. As if the witches were unable to decide when and whom they would have sex with. As if any of that even mattered! It wouldn’t make her any less of a desirable partner for any future spouse if anyone had come before them. Hermione had nearly reached her exit when Regulus caught up and gripped her wrist between his thumb and forefinger. His hold on her wasn’t enough to prevent her from continuing to seek refuge away from him, but it was just enough that it made her curious about what he wanted from her. “She shouldn’t have called you that,” Hermione laughed at the statement but didn’t turn to face him. “You aren’t anything less than absolute perfection, and anyone too blind to see that fact shouldn’t be permitted to gaze upon your beauty.” “So your only appeal to me is my looks?” Hermione snipped, though she knew what he’d meant and was purposefully being difficult. “No,” he gently tugged her arm, and Hermione allowed him to pull her to face him. “Though, I suspect Aphrodite played a hand in your creation. Your mind is a wonder that I could only wish to bear witness to its inner workings someday. The aura around you attracts even the most weary souls. You are a candle burning in the darkness, a beacon pointing me toward the path I’ve been searching for.” “And you came to this conclusion from walking around a bookshop with me for a few hours?” Hermione asked, though her lips parted and her tongue darted to wet them. She could tell that he was dangerous, but she couldn't deny the attraction she felt toward him. “Yes,” he murmured, and then his lips were on hers. Hermione suspected that she’d never been kissed like this because there was no way her mind would have forgotten such an act. His kiss wasn’t demanding or asking for more than she could freely offer. His hands found her hair, and the pins that had been keeping it pulled back dropped away to the floor so that her hair hung freely around her shoulders. His fingers tangled in her curls, reaching her scalp as he tipped her head back to give him better access to her mouth. When his tongue ran along the seams of her lips, Hermione could hear the sigh of pleasure coming from her as she breathed him in. A crack made the couple freeze in their compromised position as the Black family house elf appeared beside them. In the chaos, Hermione pulled away from Regulus, her eyes wide and lips wet from the kiss he’d just given her. Regulus looked still perfectly composed, and though he spoke to his elf, his eyes never left her. “I suspect dinner is ready then?” “Yes, sir,” the elf replied, giving a low bow. “My Mistress asks that you hurry and not extend this evening any longer than necessary.” Extending his arm to Hermione, she knew she ought to take the peace offering, let him sweep her off her feet, and escort her to dinner from hell. However, Hermione’s fierce, independent side won out, and instead of taking his arm, she turned away from him and walked toward the main exit of the library. If Regulus Black thought she would swoon with a few smooth lines and a toe-curling kiss, he had another thing coming.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
KINGS CROSS STATION, LONDON, ENGLAND; 1ST SEPTEMBER 1977
The remainder of August had been quiet, and Hermione had managed to keep any thoughts of Regulus Black at bay. Following the disastrous dinner, the Greengrass family had not requited the invitation from the House of Black and had neglected to seek them out, as was customary for a reciprocating family of an offer of courtship. Hermione hadn’t been shocked in the least. Despite not responding to a single message that Regulus had sent her, Hermione still had a stack of unopened envelopes sitting in her trunk. She had considered leaving them home with Helen for a moment, but then Hermione had thought better of it and brought them with her. It would give her something to review and help her understand what made Regulus Black tick if he continued his unreciprocated pursuits. Not only that, but Hermione had also taken to the Greengrass library with a new interest, which had not been something Hermione had not even considered before her encounters with Regulus. She learned all about pureblood culture and protocol. She had been horrified and disgusted at the lack of rights women were afforded, and when she’d reached out to Helen for confirmation, she’d been even more gutted. Alas, she did not want to exchange correspondence with Regulus Black for the remainder of the summer. “Are you nervous?” Helen asked as Hermione walked between her adopted parents towards a scarlet-colored train. The platform was overly crowded, and it was pure chaos with all the children and familiars running about as students tried to cage their loose animals and parents attempting to corral and bid farewell to their children. Younger siblings were a mix of crying as they clung to their parents, while others were scowling at not being allowed to also leave for school. It was madness, but as Hermione looked around, she again felt the same familiarity in Diagon Alley and Grimmauld Place. How was it that she knew someplace that she didn’t remember? It was unnerving, and though she could have confided in Helen without fear of judgment or the witch thinking she was going mad, Hermione decided it was best to keep these thoughts private. The mystery behind her sudden appearance was still there, and if Hermione knew all of these places so well, then that would raise more questions for which she didn’t have answers. “No, the deputy headmistress replied to my letter of concerns with the sorting ceremony. She offered not to make a spectacle of me and that I would get a private sorting. She also stated that I wouldn’t be required to be a part of the other first-year traditions, and I could stay with the rest of the school if I wished.” Truthfully, Hermione wasn’t looking for any special treatment. From the curious looks other students on the platform were giving her as she stood with her trunk, she would be the topic of conversation and much speculation, even without being paraded around. She hoped she wasn’t the only transfer student; however, she would have no way of knowing until they arrived at Hogwarts. Everyone around her had spent years together, growing up beside one another and getting to know each other. Hermione realized that she was an outsider, and as an outsider, no matter how much she tried, she’d never truly belong. Hermione needed to spend her last two years of schooling focused on blending in and not standing out or drawing attention to herself. After a while, the novelty of a new student would fade, and then she’d be able to become another face in the crowd. “Hm,” Hector replied, waving his wand so Hermione’s trunk floated before him. Hermione looked up at him, her brows scrunching as she tried to sort out his thoughts. A glance down at her and his stern look faded into a softer one, a smile curving at his lips, and his whiskey-colored eyes filled with warmth and admiration for her, though he said nothing. “If anything happens, know that you can write to us,” Helen said, grasping one of Hermione’s freely hanging ones. Tears were brimming in the older witch's eyes, and Hermione felt comforted knowing she was connected to such a loving family. “We’ve already been in touch with Professor McGonagall. Anything–” “I’ll write and let you know,” Hermione finished, though she doubted she’d take Helen up on her offer. The familiarity wasn’t lost as Hermione watched the steam engine again. The sights, smells, sounds, all of it was doing something to her subconscious, and Hermione feared that if she continued to use the crutch of the Greengrass family, she’d never figure out her real identity. “Thank you for everything,” Hermione said, smiling in the direction of her adopted parents as she stepped toward the train. Helen released Hermione’s hand as she separated herself from them. Hector watched her as if he understood what she was doing. Hermione was drawing a line between them, appreciative of the parental support she’d found in them, but simultaneously, she was a lost girl trying to figure out where her place was. More so than other teens her age. “We’ll see you at Christmas,” Helen called, brushing a tear away from her face as Hermione made it to the train. Hector released her trunk of his spell and let it set gently on the entry, and Hermione gave them one last look before she took hold of the handle and searched for a compartment. Hermione wove through the crowd, keeping her head down, not drawing any attention to herself as she went. The throng of students was loud, and she had the distinct feeling that she’d once been one of them, racing down the corridors in search of a place for herself and her friends. She’d said tearful farewells to her parents, the ones who had raised her, and then she’d had a group of peers she’d grown up with and then had ridden on this same train to the same destination. Instead, she was alone in a parallel world, even with hundreds of students swarming her. Looking into a compartment, Hermione found a sandy-haired wizard sitting alone, looking out the window. His long nose was pointed, making him look nearly rat-like when it twitched, though he was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice when she opened the door. With his eyes focused on whatever was on the platform, he didn’t realize Hermione had invaded his sanctuary. She said nothing as she stepped in and flicked her wand to put her trunk above her. Sitting on the bench opposite him, she pulled out the earmuffs required for herbology to dampen the rest of the world before pulling a copy of Hogwarts: a History from her bag. With her focus entirely on the text in her lap, Hermione didn’t know when the boy had noticed her presence, but at some point, he had. However, instead of acknowledging her, he left her in peace, not that she would have known if he’d said anything, thanks to the earmuffs she wore. It wasn’t until very long into the ride that she was finally disrupted from her thoughts. A hand grasped the earmuffs from her and ripped them off her head, startling Hermione so that she panicked to reach for her wand and pointed it toward the thief of her seclusion. “Whoo!” A boy said, holding his hands up, her earmuffs hanging off his thumb. “I just wanted to know what your name was.” However, instead of answering, Hermione found herself staring open-mouthed at him. His black hair hung long in his face, though the dragon-tooth earrings were visible, poking through the thick strands. His eyes were a startling pale gray framed with thick lashes. Instead of wearing robes as she was accustomed to seeing paired with a similar face, the boy was wearing jeans and a leather jacket. On his hands, she could see runes tattooed over the tops and on his fingers. When he pushed his hair out of his face and smiled at her, she felt her stomach do something funny. The scar on his right brow, another on his cheek, the slightly crooked nose as if it’d been broken and then not healed properly, and a mouth that was a bit too wide but somehow fit his thin face perfectly. Her magic ran through her blood and warmed her, begging to be released and reach out to him. With a start, she scrambled back in her seat, her heart racing in her chest as she looked him over again quickly. She knew him. She realized with a start, her body shaking as she swallowed down the panic attack she could feel forming in her chest. “Who are you?” Hermione snapped, her voice sharper than it should have. “What’s your name?” She demanded, her wand still pointed at him in a threatening manner. “I asked first,” he replied, the scarred brow lifting in amusement at her as if her wand was nothing more than a pretty accessory and not a threatening weapon. “Hermione,” she supplied, feeling no need to give this boy her surname. “Alright, if that’s how you want it,” the boy said, tossing the earmuffs onto the bench beside her. “I’m Sirius.” Her magic burned in her veins, and Hermione felt a stabbing pain in her head as if something were trying to claw its way out. She ignored the feeling as her eyes flickered to the sandy-haired boy now watching her intently. “Oh, yeah, that’s Wormtail,” Sirius supplied as if introducing his friend were an afterthought. “That’s an awful name,” Hermione clipped, finally lowering her wand before turning her attention toward the bag beside her. She began to dig through the contents in search of the potions that Helen had sent with her. The injuries Hermione sustained when she’d lost her memory still had to be carefully cared for with the specialty potions. Thankfully, Helen had supplied her with enough that Hermione could avoid the school matron and stay tight-lipped on her condition—the fewer people who knew, the better. “Well, I guess you can call him Peter,” Sirius replied, watching Hermione curiously as she found a pain potion; she swallowed it and then winced at the bitter taste. “So, you’re new?” He continued as she finished, putting the empty vial into her bag. “Have you ever seen me before?” Hermione asked as she reached for her earmuffs. “No…” “Then you should be able to answer your question.” Without waiting for a response, Hermione shoved the earmuffs over her head, leaned her head against the bench seat, and closed her eyes, waiting for the potion’s effects to take over. If Hermione thought that she’d be able to find peace so simply, she was wrong.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY, SCOTLAND; 1ST SEPTEMBER 1977
Hermione woke with a start as the train came to a halt. Feeling disoriented, she took a moment to realize where she was and what was going on. The soft light hanging above their benches illuminated Hermione's compartment. Outside the window, she could see a train station filled with students clambering off and walking in the same direction. “How’d you sleep, kitten?” Sirius asked in a low drawl, having noticed her waking up. Instead of answering him, Hermione narrowed her eyes in his direction and looked up to where she’d stashed her trunk. She sighed, noticing that the boys had changed into their school robes while Hermione still wore the trousers and sweater she’d worn to the station. The blasted potions she had to take always exhausted her, and now she was starting her school career rushing so she wouldn’t get lost trying to make it up to the school she’d never been to. Though there was little chance of her losing her way, Hermione still prided herself on being punctual and knew that the Deputy Headmistress was doing her a favor by not having her be sorted with all of the first years. She hated that she wouldn’t be one of the first students off the train. Not answering the boy, Hermione stood, wobbling slightly from the blood rushing to her head before reaching for her trunk. She was determined to change and find the Deputy Headmistress for her house sorting. Hermione grunted, pulling at the handle when the tattooed hand came over the top of hers to help ease the trunk out of where she’d stored it. “Here,” he said, smiling at her. Hermione didn’t protest the help, but after what she’d experienced with Regulus over the summer, she was weary of accepting help from unknown wizards. She had learned that their intentions were potentially self-serving and not just being generous to someone in need. “Thanks,” she clipped, turning her back on him and his companion as she opened the lid. The uniform and outer robes she had to change into sat on top, and Hermione looked over her shoulder to scowl at the boys who were still watching her with a curious gaze. “Do you mind?” she asked, raising a brow. At the implication of what she needed to do, the sandy-haired boy’s face turned red with his embarrassment while Sirius turned a wolfish grin on her. When the outrageous boy opened his mouth to respond, Hermione flicked her wrist with her wand in hand, sending them both toppling backward and landing with a thud outside the compartment. Another flick, and Hermione cut off the protests already thrown her way as the compartment door shut with a thud and the curtains drawn. Honestly, she thought, shaking her head as she rounded the space, dressing quickly, knowing she had limited time to get to the school. The uniform was easy to throw on: a thigh-length skirt, an oxford, and a simple grey vest. The tie she’d purchased was plain black with the Hogwarts crest at the knot. Cursing, Hermione dug through the trunk, searching for the thick wool stocking she was supposed to wear, but when she couldn’t find them, she left on her plain white socks and slipped into the black Mary Janes, hopeful no one would notice. Shutting the trunk, Hermione hurried onto the platform. A scarce number of students still lingered, easing the worry in Hermione’s chest as she stepped off the train. “You’re late,” a low voice behind her said, causing Hermione to startle and turn around. Looking up, Hermione scowled slightly at who had found her. “I don’t particularly think that it’s any of your business, now, if you’ll excuse me,” Hermione said, pushing past the taller boy wearing a green and silver tie and a green prefect badge pinned to his robes. Asserting her independence, she moved away from him, not wanting to accept anything else from Regulus Black. “As a house prefect, I insist on accompanying you and ensuring your safe arrival at the school,” Regulus continued, pulling her trunk from her grasp and setting it with the rest of the school’s luggage. “I think I can find the way on my own, thanks,” Hermione clipped, turning on her heels and marching toward where the rest of the students had wandered. “I don’t need some patriarchal nonsense–” she began to say when Sirius appeared before her, grinning broadly. “You’ve got to be joking,” she grumbled, trying to sidestep the other wizard, her defiance clear in her tone. “Kitten!” He exclaimed, and Hermione shot him a look, expressing her distaste for the nickname. “You can ride with me and Pete. Thought we’d wait for you.” Hermione opened her mouth to tell the boy off as well when she stumbled slightly, being tugged away from the tattooed wizard. “Sirius,” Regulus growled at him, pulling her around the waist and tucking her protectively behind his back so the other wizard was out of view. “Reggie,” came the response, though long gone was the playful and teasing manner in which he had been addressing Hermione, replaced with a similar tone as Regulus. “To what do I owe the honor of being addressed by the new Black Heir after being disowned?” He said mockingly, giving a slight bow at the waist. Her curiosity, always seeming to get the best of her, had Hermione looking around the taller frame of Regulus to watch the interaction. Her brows shot up, shocked at the resemblance of the two wizards facing off. They were nearly identical, though Regulus stood slightly taller than Sirius, and his rounder face made him appear marginally younger. “If you didn’t sully yourself with blood traitors and mudbloods, then maybe Mother and Father wouldn’t have disowned you,” Regulus replied smoothly, the aggressive tone replaced with indifference. “If you’ll excuse us,” Regulus snipped, taking Hermione by her arm and dragging her along with him. Looking back at Sirius, who was still standing on the platform, watching Hermione as Regulus pulled her along, she swore she saw a look of shock that morphed into amusement cross the other wizard’s face before she turned a corner. “Black!” Hermione protested, trying to dig her heels into the ground as they continued moving, but the slick stone they stood on made it impossible. “Regulus!” She continued, pulling on her arm in an attempt to dislodge herself, but it was of no use. Reaching the mud path, Hermione squealed when Regulus swept his arm under the back of her knees and carried her bridal style toward the awaiting carriage. She swore under her breath, his warm hand cupping her exposed thigh, and Hermione wished she’d spent more time looking for the blasted stockings. When Regulus set her in the carriage, Hermione clamped her knees shut, aware of how exposed her legs were. Regulus didn’t miss the motion, his nostrils flaring in her direction as his eyes roamed over her bare knees and thighs. The skirt rode up before she pulled at the hem to right it after his handling of her. “You are acting like a caveman,” Hermione snapped, pulling her shoulders back so that her spine was straight, and turned to look out the window as the carriage jerked into motion. “How do you know him?” Regulus asked, ignoring her comment, not taking offense to her statement, instead jumping straight to the topic he wanted to discuss. “I don’t,” Hermione replied, narrowing her eyes to the boy across her. “He sat in the same compartment on the ride here. Not that it’s any of your–” “Hermione,” Regulus warned, cutting her off. Hermione bristled at the interruption but kept her mouth closed, thinking it might be better to stay quiet than push him further. The remainder of the ride passed in silence, and Hermione peered out the window, watching the forest as they rode down the dirt path. The rain that had collected in the branches dropping onto the top of the carriage was the only sound she could hear as Regulus also said nothing, letting the silence fill the space. When they reached the castle, Hermione looked up at the enormous structure and gasped as her magic swirled inside her chest. Across from her, Regulus was still watching her. His black, wavy hair was pushed out of his face, and his grey eyes roamed over her as if waiting for her to do something. “Where are you supposed to go?” Regulus asked, not moving from his seat, instead watching Hermione. “That’s none–” Hermione started but closed her mouth when he raised a brow. With a sigh, Hermione turned to look back out the window so she wasn’t looking at him anymore. “I’m to meet the deputy headmistress to be assigned my house before the first years,” Hermione answered. “Did she say where you were to meet her?” Hermione could see the dark-haired wizard moving toward the carriage door from the corner of her eye. Turning to face him, Hermione watched as he climbed from the carriage before turning back to extend a hand to her expectantly. Giving into his whims, Hermione accepted the help. Ducking her head, Hermione stepped out and looked at the grand entrance, where students were still filing in. The massive stone castle had glowing yellow light from the candles lit, making it seem more mysterious and enchanting. The other students met with their friends lingering, none hesitating as they raced up the stone stairs and through the grand oak doors. Hermione glanced at Regulus beside her, whose gaze was locked on her, entirely ignoring the others glancing their way before walking inside. “She said the entrance of the Great Hall,” Hermione finally answered, looking back at the castle and away from the boy. When he said nothing, Hermione looked back at him again, and Regulus extended his arm to her expectantly. Scoffing to herself, Hermione accepted the offer and allowed Regulus to lead her. Hermione wanted to fidget as more of the passing students stopped to watch Hermione being escorted by the Black Heir, but she kept her chin raised and shoulders back as she moved past the crowd and into the entrance hall. Hermione scanned the crowd, assuming it would be obvious who she was supposed to be meeting with when her eyes landed on a tall, stern-faced witch about her mother’s age. In her heart, Hermione knew that the thin woman in the emerald green dress robes and the neat brown hair tucked under a matching emerald and gold witch’s hat was who she was looking for. Hermione’s magic soared in her chest, and without a thought, Hermione released Black’s arm and made her way through the throng of students until she was standing in front of the tall witch. “Professor McGonagall?” Hermione asked, already knowing the answer. “You must be Hermione Greengrass,” the woman stated, her brown eyes looking over Hermione over her spectacles. “If you’ll come with me, quickly. I still need to get to the first-year students once they’ve gotten to the school,” the professor explained, turning and leading Hermione away from the crowd. Upon instinct, Hermione glanced over her shoulder and jumped slightly when she saw Regulus still watching her. He had not moved into the hall with the rest of the students. He watched her until Hermione turned the corner and was out of view. Soon enough, Hermione was alone with McGonagall in a smaller dining room with a few round tables and plush chairs near a burning fireplace, making the room feel intimate and welcoming. “If you’ll take a seat, Ms. Greengrass,” the older witch said, gesturing toward a short wooden stool. Nodding her head in agreement, Hermione shifted so she was perched on the stool, unsure of what would come next. When Professor McGonagall produced an old, tattered, and patched brown hat, Hermione’s eyes widened, though she did not protest when it sat on her head. From reading Hogwarts: A History, she knew that the hat had once belonged to Godric Gryffindor and that each of the founders had embedded some of their magic and traits in it so that students could be sorted into houses that best suited them. “Ah, well, what do we have here?” A deep voice inside her head sneered, causing Hermione to jerk and look around. “You have a lot of courage, that’s true…you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t…” Hermione squinted her eyes, wanting to ask what the hat meant, but it continued. “Brilliant mind too, perhaps as much, if not more so than Rowena herself…” the hat continued, causing Hermione to take a deep breath.
“But no…with your adoption…the heritage you can claim…with your ambitious nature…it better be…”
“SLYTHERIN!” The house shouted, causing Hermione to jerk back, looking up at Professor McGonagall, who was nodding her head knowingly. “What–” Hermione’s eyes widened, and looked down at the tie that had transformed from all-black to green and silver. “No…that’s not…I can’t be…” she whispered, closing her eyes as the hat was removed from her head. “Very well, head on into the Great Hall if you will, Ms. Greengrass,” McGonagall said, stepping out of Hermione’s way, not having heard the younger witch’s protests. “Professor Slughorn will be your head of house, and your timetable is available tomorrow. Ask any of your house’s prefects any questions that you might have. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” the woman finished, gesturing toward the door for Hermione to leave. Hermione stood and walked toward the door with shaky legs, wondering how to avoid Regulus Black now.