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Chapter Text

"I love you, and that's the beginning and end of everything." 

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Devil's Mistress

March 3, 2000

My short black pumps click on the floor of the Ministry of Magic as I make my way toward my office in the Department of Mysteries section. I was enjoying my morning coffee alongside a copy of the Daily Prophet when Malfoy thought it would be a great idea to floo in and scare the Godric out of me, making me nearly spill my coffee on my white blouse.  

I huff in annoyance and nearly walk into Neville, turning towards my cubicle.  

“Whoa Mione, are you okay? You look like someone just dog-eared your Hogwarts: A History copy.” Neville states, a smile making up across his face as he grabs both of my shoulders making sure I don’t fall on my arse. It’s been two years and yet he still looks the same and not at the same time. He grew out of his round-face chubbiness and instead has gotten taller-not as tall as Malfoy but bulkier too, with stubble lining his jaw. But that doesn’t change the fact that this boy-man is still the person who killed the snake. Neville was still one of my friends who looked at me in the same light after the war.

Two years. Merlin, it’s been two years since we defeated Voldemort, and yet it still feels like it had been just yesterday. 

“Sorry Neville, no I’m fine just a bit annoyed with Malfoy but that’s an everyday thing so...” I reply, a smile making across my face. 

Neville chuckles at that and we both start walking towards my office, “That’s true, I think we would all honestly be worried if you two ever passed a day being civil.” 

I laugh and walk into a cubicle with Hermione Granger's nameplate hanging proudly from the door, Neville at my heels. It isn’t as big as an Aurors office but it’s perfect for me. A rectangular mahogany desk sits in the middle covered with files on a neat stack on the right, inkpots, a stack of my quills, chewed up from the ends when my thoughts get the best of me sit in a jar on the left side with a desk-lamp. Behind the desk is my office chair and a floor-to-wall shelf filled with books on the lower section, and files on the sections above. I hang my cloak on the rack in the corner take a seat in my chair and pull open a drawer, Neville sits in one of the guest chairs in front of me, “Why are you annoyed with Malfoy anyways?” Neville questions, leaning back in the chair and looking at me with an amusing glint in his eyes. 

I scoff and start shuffling through the files in the drawer looking for the most recent one we’re working on together, the files are all arranged in alphabetical order, and then by date, “Because Malfoy is an utter prat,” I find the one I need and set it on the desk. “He barged into my flat this morning demanding I come to his office immediately because he had ‘found something unknown and needed some help figuring it out’.” My mood sours once more and I stand up, grab the file, run a hand over my black knee-length skirt, and head toward Malfoy’s office. 

“Oh, did he say what he had found?” Neville inquires. I shake my head with a glare on my face and walk into the office labeled Draco Malfoy’s. 

The insufferable git is sitting in his office chair, with spectacles on his face, and examining what seems to be a rock on his desk . He looks up from the stone and scowls at me and Neville. “Took you bloody long enough Granger! Where the hell were you?! And what the hell are you doing here Longbottom?” 

The glare on my face is so deep I’m certain my face will be stuck this way, “Mind you Malfoy, but if I recall correctly it was you who floo-ed into my flat demanding that I come to your office immediately,” I drop the file on his desk and cross my arms, “You didn’t even tell me why you needed me, you also didn’t say please.” I mutter and give him a pointed look.
Malfoy opens his mouth to doubt a retort but Neville beats him to it, “Sorry I just walked into Hermione, oh well she walked into me and she looked a bit distressed so I wanted to make sure everything was alright, I’ll leave you two to whatever you’re about to discuss, I should head back to my Department anyways.” Ignoring the glare Malfoy’s giving him, Neville nods at me with a small smile and leaves Malfoy’s cubicle. 

I turn around and find Malfoy now staring fiercely at his shelf with a slight frown on his face, “What?” I walk up toward his office and plop down in one of the visitor chairs. 

“I’m sorry.”

I freeze. Eyes going wide I look up at Malfoy who is still not looking at me. “What?” the words come out far more breathless than I would have liked. 

“I…I apologize for barging in on you this morning, I suppose it wasn’t that urgent, and I am also sorry for demanding you to come. I assure you I didn’t mean to sound like that at all, it’s just that the item I found is…unidentifiable at the moment”, he waved a flippant hand towards the rock sitting on his desk, “And I was hoping you would help me. Nevertheless, though I did ask very rudely so I completely understand if you do not want to help me.”

I realize that I am staring at him with my mouth open no doubt looking like a gaping fish but I can’t help it. If someone had told me that Draco fucking Malfoy would apologize to me , Hermione Granger, a know-it-all, a mudblood , I would have laughed in their faces and would’ve told them to fuck off. Because in no gods-damned universe would that happen here I am sitting in Draco Malfoy’s cubicle listening to him apologize to me more times than I can keep track of. 

After the war, we all were given the option to return to Hogwarts to complete our studies. Being given the option to return to the school with good and bad memories was not an easy choice but when McGonagall sat down with me and talked to me about all the choices that were made good and bad got me where I am now. The war was an experience I hope to never relive again but in a way I understood what the Headmistress had meant. I would not have been who I am without the war. When I looked into the mirror now I saw a woman. A woman with the same bushy hair from her childhood and her adept brain. But I saw a woman who had survived and continued surviving every day. 

Returning to Hogwarts was also something I needed to survive. 

After getting my N.E.W.T’s, I watched as my very new and completely unstable romance with Ron went into flames. That led to my and Harry’s friendship becoming distant and detached, severing my ties with the Weasley clan. I can still vividly remember the speech I was given the day before I was set to return home to my flat. 

“I’m sorry Mione, but it’s just that after the war I think you changed a lot, I mean don’t get me wrong we all did, but I think you just haven’t accepted everything yet.” Harry’s pity-filled face as he stared at her as if he couldn’t recognize who she was anymore. Truth be told she couldn’t either but, they had all just fought a fucking war for goodness sake! How did they just expect her to bounce back? Act as if nothing had happened. 

I had wanted to scream at him, shake him, beg for him to understand that she was trying she really, really was but she couldn’t change like that, not yet. They didn’t know about the nightmares that plagued her dreams in the night., They didn’t know that Bellatrix’s haunting maniacal laughter still tormented her. They didn’t know that she was trying so fucking hard to change and be good enough for them. 

They didn’t know. 

So I merely lifted her chin tears pooling in her eyes and nodded, “Okay.”

Rumors had made it sound as if I had done something wrong to be severed in front of the ‘Golden Trio’ when I had been trying. I could admit that my and Ron’s relationship hadn’t really been the priority but what could they have expected, I had just come out of a war I was still struggling to come to terms with. I knew that within the first month or so we wouldn’t work out but I tried anyway. And oh good lord did I try. But when after 6 months nothing changed I knew it was time to end things. I didn’t want to keep Ron and myself in a relationship that was bringing more pain to us than healing us. I couldn’t . 

So I ended things. 

I just didn’t realize that one decision that I had made on my own without anyone’s influence would lead to me being left by the second family I had come to know.

At first, it was unbearable. The isolation. The abandonment. The loneliness.

Weekdays were spent training as an Unspeakable after completing my studies. And weekends were spent finding a new place, getting everything in order because that was truly the only way I knew how to live. With everything in order.

“Granger? Granger?? Hermione?!” Malfoy’s voice brings me out of my trance.

“Huh, sorry what were you saying?” I don’t like how small my voice sounds all of a sudden. 

Malfoy looks at me strangely for a second before he raises one aristocratic brow and drawls, “I was asking if you would be willing to help me with this…thing?” He raises both eyebrows now expectantly. 

“Help you with what exactly…?” Malfoy sighed dramatically and sat down in his chair, pointing toward the rock thingy sitting on his walnut ash desk. Malfoy’s office is similar to mine but just a bit different at the same time, it also just speaks more Malfoy . His furniture is walnut ash and he has a leather office chair in black and two plain tucked-in chairs for visitors in the same color. Beside the door, he has a coat rack. His bookshelf is also a floor-to-wall one, organized similarly to mine: Alphabetical, date, and type of case.

 I would almost be impressed if it wasn’t Malfoy . 

I look at the rock sitting on his desk like it’s a lab rat waiting to be experimented on. I suppose in a way it is. I didn’t realize how big it was until now. It is as big as Malfoy’s hand- which is quite big because Malfoy’s hands are insanely big- and looks to be made of what seems to be pure obsidian. It starts with a flat surface and moves to the top in an upside-down cone shape, ending with a pointy tip like a triangle. 

“What is that?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me. 

“Granger, if I knew do you think I would be asking for your help to figure it out?” Malfoy deadpans with a brow raised and a smirk playing on his full, luscious, rose-colored lips. 

Wait, when did I care about Malfoy’s lips??? 

I shake my head to clear my thoughts and scowl at him, “What I mean is where did you even find this?” I reach my hands to grab it, “NO!” Malfoy stands up yelling causing me to almost jump out of the chair I’m in. “MALFOY WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU DO NOT EVER SCARE ME LIKE THAT AGAIN!!!” I all but screech at him like a banshee. 

Malfoy flinches but then stands tall again, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose “I don’t know if it’s cursed or not you daft bint. I was afraid you might get killed or something if you touched it.” he bites out. 

“You didn’t think to check if it was cursed or not?! You absolute idiot!” I hiss.  

“I did but I’m still not completely sure it’s cursed or not towards muggle-borns and half-bloods,” Malfoy replies placing his glasses on his desk. “I did all the necessary examinations but I can’t figure out whatever the bloody hell this thing is.”. Malfoy sits back down in his chair. 

I look at the rock but don’t touch it again, “Where did you even find this?” I ask again. 

“You know how my mum is currently renovating the manor,” I nod my head for him to continue. 

After the war, the Malfoys had a lot of redeeming to do in the eyes of society. Lucius had gone straight to Azkaban for the rest of his life even after getting a proper trial, not having enough evidence to prove his assistance with the Order. Malfoy and Narcissa were also given a fair trial, and after speaking at his trial alongside Harry, the two were exempted. Narcissa had traveled to France for the first year and Malfoy had found a flat in London, staying away from Malfoy Manor to recover and accept everything. Narcissa had returned a couple of months ago, changed and ready to start her life anew. The Malfoy matriarch now a Black again after her divorce with Lucius decided to renovate the Manor completely instead of tearing it down like Malfoy had wanted. She claimed that there were many good memories in that house and that she wouldn’t let the past overpower those in any way. From what I had heard so far half of the Manor was done and the rest was in progress. 

“Anyways the wing that…Voldemort had occupied,” an unwanted shudder runs through me at the mention of the horrible wizard. Malfoy pauses but then continues, “The workers that were cleaning that area found this in his room. They brought it to me asking if I wanted it or not. I took it and kind of forgot about it. A couple of days ago I remembered and checked it out. It looked pretty ordinary at the start, so I was about to get rid of it when it started to glow all of a sudden.” I open my mouth to ask a question but Malfoy continues ignoring me. I huff and cross my arms across my chest like a petulant child. “I had no idea why it was glowing. I had only just put a finger on it. After a bit of examining, I realized I wouldn’t be able to figure it out on my own. I was thinking about who to ask when you’re owl dropped off the latest report on our case and I thought why not ask the ‘Brightest witch of our age’? That’s why I had jostled into your flat this morning. I have no idea what it is myself.” Malfoy finishes leaning back in his chair as if relaxing himself for my onslaught of questions.

I open my mouth to do exactly that but the only thing that comes out is a soft “Oh”. 

Malfoy looks a bit shocked and amused at the same time no doubt from my speechlessness, the slightest shadow of a smirk appears on his handsome face.

Since when was Malfoy handsome??? There is something seriously wrong with you Hermione Granger.

My gaze flits from Malfoy and the rock landing back on Malfoy. Lifting my chin, a small smile playing on my face, “Well what can I do to help?” I say with confidence. 

Malfoy’s smirk turns into a real, full dimpled smile, a glint in his silver eyes and he leans in.

Chapter Text

"We were together. I forget the rest." 

- Walt Whitman

“So you’ll help me then?” Malfoy asks. 

“Yes, I suppose I will, only because my curiosity demands it, probably since I’m an Unspeakable.” I smile, leaning forward on my chair. 

After completing my studies I decided to take up Headmistress McGonagall’s offer to become an Unspeakable. The idea of working in a building where I was going to be in the vicinity of Harry and Ron was unbearable, especially after all those publications were paraded around thanks to Rita Skeeter, but the Headmistress had only simply listened to my complaints and then had slid a pamphlet across the desk with a knowing look in her eyes. The information within, as scant as it may have been was enough to change the direction of my decision. 

Hermione Granger was going to become an Unspeakable . 

And she would allow no one to change that decision for her. 

After 6 months of hard, vicious training and an extremely unorthodox test which I was not allowed to tell anyone about, due to magical restraints, I had passed with remarkable scores. Obviously.  

“Awesome, I was hoping you’d say yes,” Malfoy grabs the file I had dropped on his desk when I first arrived and opens it up skimming through the contents of the most recent case of a broken time-turner retrieved from a crime scene that needed some proper examining done by an Unspeakable, “Are you coming to the gambling night tomorrow?” Satisfied with the answers provided he throws the file back on his desk. 

I couldn’t help but study Malfoy as he walked around his office finding and placing files in their respectable places. The white-haired that was always slicked teenage boy, with a slender and delicate frame, gradually transformed into a handsome broad-shouldered man. His once-white hair now had a distinguished silver hue, and his features had matured, giving him a strong and charismatic presence. His angular jawline and piercing silver eyes exuded confidence and power, and his broad shoulders spoke of strength and resilience. As he walked with purpose and grace, it was evident that he had grown into a striking and commanding figure, leaving behind the boyish charm of his youth.

I snort, “As if Theo will let me skip this one out. Merlin knows how long it took for me to make up to him for the previous one that I missed. He’ll have my head if I don’t show up tomorrow.” 

Theodore Nott: Slytherin, former Death Eater, Healer at St. Mungo’s, Ginevera Weasley’s official fiance, and shockingly my best friend. Or as he would say: The better new best friend. 

Finding a flat in London was quite easy, I guess being the ‘Golden Girl’ had its perks, but what wasn’t easy was spending the weekends alone . At the start it was fine. I looked forward to spending some time alone myself but after decorating the flat had been accomplished in four weekends spent at home trying to distract myself, things started to go downhill from there. Giving up I had decided to go to a nearby Muggle pub and get wasted, maybe go home with a guy, but most importantly to get that ache out of me. 

What I had not expected was to walk into Theo. 

“Granger?” 

I turn around in my seat to the oddly familiar male voice that I can’t place. 

Standing before me is Theodore Nott, dressed in muggle clothes. 

“Holy shit! It is you! I knew that hair was oddly familiar.  How have you been? I haven’t seen you for quite some time now, it has been what, a year almost?!” He gives me a wide grin and plops down in the seat beside mine. He gestures to the bartender, a girl with silky blonde hair that seems to shine, with eyes as blue as the Pacific, and a tall model-like build who puts a drink in front of him, the color of blue flames. 

I raise an eyebrow as he winks at her and turns back toward me. “I’m a regular here, Diana here knows me quite well,” He smirks at me and takes a sip from his drink. 

“You? A regular here? At a muggle pub? Since when did you start associating yourself with muggles huh?” I can’t help myself from staring at him. Who would’ve thought that Theodore Nott would find solace in a muggle pub? 

He doesn’t reply for a second, just stares at me. I open my mouth to apologize if I said something wrong, but he surprises me by laughing in my face. It’s not even an amused chuckle, no, he’s laughing and it rumbles through him, barrelling towards me and I can’t help but join him as well. 

“Oh sweet Salazar, I think I’m going to die,” He’s still laughing and his eyes seem a bit misty. “In case you’ve forgotten Granger we just came out of a war, in which I was on the wrong side of thanks to my one hell of a father so not everyone in the wizarding world is doe-eyed towards me yet.” He says with a small smile playing on his face. 

I immediately sober up with that. I was so caught up in my sorrows that I didn’t realize what it must mean for those on the other side of the war to start afresh. Theo always seemed to be the nicest in the Slytherins. Even before the war, he was the quiet one, often keeping to himself and staying in the shadows while Malfoy and Zabini took the spotlight. I would find him sitting in the alcove a couple of tables down from where I usually sat in the library nose in a book. We never spoke to each other just the respectful nods of acknowledgment whenever we passed, but other than that Theo was probably my favorite out of all of the Slytherins, that is if I had any favorite Slytherin. 

“I'm so sorry Theo, I suppose after the war we all had some redeeming to do no matter what side we’re on.” I gave him a reassuring smile and grabbed my wine glass. 

“I suppose we did,” He smiles at me again and I can’t help mirroring it with my own. “So tell me Golden Girl how are things with you and the Weasley? I haven’t seen you two around lately but I suppose I am the one to blame for that for not leaving my flat unless necessary.” 

I freeze. The smile dropped from my face. He doesn’t know. Theo must notice my sudden change in demeanor because he quickly adds in, “I don’t mean to pry or anything, it‘s just I haven’t seen anything about you two in the news. Last I heard before, leaving for New York to do some additional studying as a healer was that you two were dating and you were back in Hogwarts for Eighth Year.” 

I try to compose myself and open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Memories from arguments, speeches, and false promises to change start to crowd my mind. Breathe Hermione. Breathe. Breathe in 1234… Breathe out 1234… Deep breathes. You didn’t allow Roxham to battle with your mind to have your occlumency walls torn down now. 

“Granger? Hermione?! Shit. Are you okay? I’m sorry I didn’t mean to… Shit. Shit.” Theo rubs a hand up and down on my back soothingly. 

I shake my head, “No. No, it’s okay, it’s just that…” I pause. I can’t. I can’t. 

Theo turns me around so I’m facing him. “Hey Granger, it's okay. You’re alright, I have you now it’s okay it’s okay.” Theo warps me in his arms while I try to get my panicked state in control, but my walls keep on shattering. Wall after wall I build around the memories of Ron, Harry, and the whole shit that went down, keep on resurfacing no matter how hard I try. 

Finally, after what seems like an eternity has passed, I disentangle myself from Theo. He holds my forearms worry etched into his handsome features. “You okay there Granger?” He asks. I nod unable to form words at the moment.

“I-I’m fine. I think.” Theo looks at me for another moment but then lifts me from the stool and swings an arm around my shoulders tucking me into him. He motions for the bartender-Diana places a handful of muggle money and walks me out towards the door. He finds a dark alley and then appartates us before I even know what's happening. 

We arrived at what I can assume is Nott Manor. Landing clumsily due to the alcohol in my system and because of my recent panic attack I almost fall face-first onto the porch if Theo didn’t keep his arms around me. The part of my brain that was still functioning well enough managed to notice that the Manor was far larger than Malfoy Manor and far more frightening. Theo didn’t let go of me, through the short walk up the front stairs or when we walked through the doors that opened immediately when we stepped on the last stair. We stepped into the foyer and Theo moved to take my coat off of my shoulders, “Moxy!” He yelled and immediately the crack of apparition filled the otherwise quiet house. Standing in front of me was a slightly round, petite elf, with eyes as bright as the color of gold. Its eyes widened as it took in my appearance while Theo hung my coat on the rack. If I was still capable I would have smoothed my black dress and run a hand through my unruly curls trying to tame them but at the moment I had no ounce of energy left to breathe properly let alone trying to look proper. 

“Master Theo, what is happened?” It asked turning towards Theo. 

“Moxy can you please set up a fire in the main living room and maybe get some food ready?” He turned towards me again and offered an arm, “Come on Granger let's sit down for a bit okay?

He guided me towards a room with three couches, a dark brown coffee table, and a bar, the fire burning in the fireplace lit up the room like fireworks at night, no doubt thanks to Moxy. On shaky legs, I walked towards a black leather loveseat and collapsed onto it. 

“Hermione?” I looked up to find Theo kneeling in front of me, hand wrapped around mine, with that same worried look from earlier. “I don’t mean to pry or anything but what’s wrong? Are you okay now?” 

I know that I can refuse and not say anything to him, Theo would understand. He would give me a small smile and then pour me a drink and I would go home to my lonely flat in London, but for some reason, I don’t want to do that. I can blame it on the alcohol or the way my brain feels like it just awoke from a hundred-year-long slumber but I know that I can trust Theo. That I can tell him and he would understand. He won’t judge me, he would listen. 

He doesn’t say anything as I tell him about my breakup with Ron. Doesn’t ask any questions when I start sobbing while telling him about Harry and the rest of the people I had considered friends once became distant. Looked at me like I had turned into a completely new person they didn’t know how to be around. His hands tightened around mine and he pulled me into a hug once more, holding me tightly as a wave of fresh tears came to my eyes at his kindness and the fact that there was someone out there still who may care about me. 

I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, but I just knew that Theo didn’t stop hugging me and never said anything. Finally, the tears slowed and I pulled back enough to look him in the eyes. There was no judgment there, only sincere kindness shown in his eyes and it almost had me sobbing again like a baby. 

“Oh, Hermione. Gorgeous I am so sorry. Gods I was an idiot I shouldn’t have just asked you that. Shit. I should get thrown out of the nearest building.” I can’t help the wet laugh that comes out of my mouth due to his serious and frustrated expression. He smiles at me and I can’t help but smile back. 

“Glad to know you find this funny now, though I’d appreciate your laughter over your tears any day Granger,” He gives me a lop-sided smile, “I am sorry though, truly. God, I don’t even know how you haven’t killed someone yet after everything you’ve been through. Like who the fuck does that?” 

I smile sadly at him and tug at his hands to get him to stand and sit beside me on the couch instead, “I don’t even know to be honest. I suppose a part of me thought that I deserved this, that it was my fault.” 

Theo looks at me like I’ve grown a second head, “Your fault?! Granger are you fucking kidding me?! This is not your fault at all. You ended things with Weasley so that you both could have a chance at happiness and not ruin each other's lives while trying to save something that was never gonna work out. It’s not your fault that Saint Potter and Weasley idiot turned out to be complete dicks at all!” 

He smiles at me again pulling me into a hug and I don’t even care that I have gotten his shirt wet or how my hair looks like I got electrocuted because for once in my life after the war I don't feel alone anymore. And that there is someone out there who cares. 

As I start to clean my office and pack up for the day, I can’t help but wonder how my life has changed after the war. 

After my fallout with Harry and the Weasleys, I felt as if I may never again find that happiness, that peace ever again. But after my strange encounter with Theo, I quickly realized how wrong I had been. Theo had left for America immediately after the war had ended claiming that he needed to start afresh with a change of scenery, but I knew deep down that a small part of him needed to get away from the judgemental stares of the world. After a year of exploring the country, he returned home to deal with the impending matters as the sole heir to the Notts and bumped into Ginny. The pair started with the usual Slytherin-Gryffindor banter but slowly it had turned into something more. 

I was flabbergasted when Theo told me he was dating Ginny during one of our weekly outings, but not as much as I was when Ginny Weasley walked into Theo’s living room and started to shake me. 

“HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER YOU ABSOLUTE BITCH! HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME!!” She was about to slap me if Theo hadn’t intervened and pulled her to him. To my utter dismay, the look on the redhead's face wasn’t just anger, it was sadness. 

“You stupid, stupid idiot,” she hissed shaking off Theo’s hands on her shoulders. “Just because Harry and my brother turned out to be assholes, didn’t mean that you had to leave me too.” Tears were now welling in the ginger’s eyes and I just stared at her with an open mouth. 

“Wh-What? Ginny I-I don’t understand. Your whole family refused to even look at me after I had ended things with Ron. How did you expect me to think that our friendship was even there anymore?!” My voice was getting high-pitched and loud with every word. 

Ginny looked at me with that same look of sadness again, “I know and I am sorry but you-you left and I couldn’t even reach you-.” Her voice broke at the end and I couldn’t hold back the tears streaming down my face anymore. Ginny took a fortifying breath while Theo rubbed her back up and down much like the day he found me having a panic attack in front of him and spoke, “I am sorry Hermione. You didn’t deserve it. I don’t care how many times Ron and Harry try to justify it. You didn’t deserve to be left by the people you trusted most,” Ginny walked up to me and pulled me into her arms as another wave of fresh tears trickled down my face. 

“I-I’m so sorry too, Gin. It’s just that everything hurt so fucking much after Ron and Harry and I couldn’t afford to be rejected and judged by another friend so I left.” The words come out small and weak, but Ginny’s arms tighten around mine as if to ground us. 

“We all made mistakes Mione’ but remember that you will always be a sister to me whether you become a Weasley or not.” The sob that I was trying to force down makes its appearance and I tighten my arms around her as we both start sobbing over mistakes made. 

Finally, Ginny pulled back and raised her hands to wipe the lingering tears off of my face. 

“Now Mione’ it’s time to meet the rest of the gang.” She winks at me with a mischievous smirk playing on her lips and releases me completely joining Theo on the sofa. At the same instant Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and Pansy Parkinson with her model-like figures and signature black bob walk in with Neville at her heels, a lovesick puppy-like look on his face and follows the Slytherin to the armchair and moves to stand behind her, Blaise and Daphne taking a seat on the seat that I and Ginny were just occupying. 

“Hello Granger, long time no see hey?” Pansy smirks at me devilishly.

I exit the Ministry still deep in my thoughts and apparate to my flat in London.

 The small flat in London is nestled on the third floor of a charming brick building in the heart of the city. As I unlocked the heavy wooden door and stepped inside, I was greeted by a cozy living room adorned with a plush velvet sofa, a vintage coffee table, and a vibrant rug that added a pop of color to the space. The walls were painted a calming shade of light blue, and the sunlight streamed in through the large windows, allowing natural light to flood the room, giving it an airy and inviting feel.

 The living room exuded an air of intellectual charm, with bookshelves lining the walls, filled to the brim with leather-bound tomes, classic literature, and volumes of poetry. The rich aroma of aged paper and leather infused the space, creating an ambiance of studious tranquility. In the center of the room, a vintage fireplace with an elegant marble mantle stood as the heart of the flat. The crackling fire gently illuminated the room, casting a warm, flickering glow upon the velvet sofa and the assortment of antique armchairs, inviting one to sink into their cushions with a classic novel in hand. The walls were adorned with tasteful artwork and academic paraphernalia, including vintage maps, scientific diagrams, and framed sketches, reflecting a deep appreciation for the arts and sciences. The kitchen was a compact yet functional area, with its marble countertops and brass fixtures, exuded timeless elegance, and a vintage tea set stood proudly on an antique sideboard. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. A small dining table nestled in a sunlit nook by the window, surrounded by well-worn chairs, offered a perfect spot for leisurely intellectual discussions over afternoon tea. 

The bedroom was a haven of tranquility, with walls adorned in soft, muted tones and adorned with academic artwork. A sturdy wooden bookcase sat in one corner, filled with a carefully curated collection of literary treasures, and a cozy reading nook nestled beneath the window, beckoning with its plush cushions and warm throw blankets. A grand oak writing desk stood in one corner, adorned with a vintage typewriter perched on top, hinting at creative pursuits and artistic inspiration, an assortment of fountain pens,  and adorned with a stack of well-thumbed books, and a plush rug that softened the hardwood floor, exuding an air of nostalgic academia. 

The small flat exuded an undeniable charm and felt like a peaceful sanctuary amid the vibrant city, effortlessly encapsulating the essence of light academia, blending timeless elegance with a love for learning and intellectual pursuits. 

Exhausted from the day's activities I quickly eat dinner leftovers from last night's Chinese take-out change into my black satin shorts and t-shirt set and head into the safety of my soft bedsheets. Though after the war even my head wasn’t safe for me anymore let alone my house. 

After the war, I would often find myself waking up in a cold sweat, tangled up in the sheets, and shaking from the nightmares that haunted me. The images of the battles, the fear, the loss, and the faces of those who didn't make it would flash through my mind, leaving me breathless and disoriented. Worse sometimes Bellatrix’s haunting cackle would run through my whole body causing me fear and scratch the wretched scar on my arm.

 To get over these nightmares, I implemented a routine of self-care and coping mechanisms. I engaged in mindfulness and meditation exercises before bedtime to calm my mind and ease my anxieties. I also found solace in journaling, allowing myself to express my thoughts and fears on paper, releasing them from my mind.

Going over today’s events I can’t help but wonder what the black obsidian stone is about. 

I roll over to my side and allow whatever small amount of sleep I can manage to take me away when I hear the faintest of whispers brush past my scenes. 

You’ll know soon enough dearest Hermione, and then you will not be able to get me out of your head. I will always be entangled in your soul Little Viper. 

Chapter Text

"Completely and perfectly 

incandescently happy." 

- Jane Austen. (Pride and Prejudice) 

Mudblood.

Mudblood.

Mudblood.

The scar on my forearm burns as Bellatrix’s maniacal laughter fills my ears as I run left and right trying to escape the maze I’m trapped in.

The maze seems to stretch endlessly in the darkness, with towering trees looming overhead, their gnarled branches intertwining to form a dense canopy that blocks out any hint of starlight. The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and the only sound is the rustling of unseen creatures skittering through the underbrush. Each twist and turn in the labyrinthine maze looks identical, with gnarled roots crisscrossing the forest floor and casting eerie, twisting shadows. It feels like the maze has a life of its own, constantly shifting and rearranging to hinder any attempt at finding a way out. The oppressive darkness and the sense of being perpetually trapped make it seem like the maze may never end.

I turn left, then right trying to navigate my way through all the while throwing curses behind me, hoping they will hit their mark and not bothering to check. 

“Mudblood, mudblood. Do you think you can escape this, mudblood?” Bellatrix's horrible high-pitched voice laced with venom crackles the air, making me almost lose my balance. 

 Please don’t let me get caught. Please don’t send me straight into the hands of that psychotic witch. Please. Please. Pleasepleaseplease. 

I make another turn and speed up, Bellarix’s voices getting closer and closer,  fire burning through my legs as I slam into a wall covered in vines threatening to consume me whole. 

Up front, I see an opening with light coming out and speed up even more. Finally oh thank you, to whoever heard my pleas of cry. 

The opening gets bigger and bigger but somehow also manages to get further and further away from me no matter how fast I run. Bellatrix’s voice is still there, cackling like a maniac and spewing insults but I pay no attention to her and try to reach the light. 

Just as I think I’ve made it, vines spew out from the ground and wrap around my ankles. 

The scream I let out is loud enough to wake the dead. I try to fight the vines but it’s no use, they just keep coming and coming slowly wrapping around my arms, torso, and mouth cutting off my screams for help. 

It’s so close Hermione, so close. The light is right there, fight it, Hermione. Fight it. The light is so close. 

Fight. 

Fight.

The light is so close Hermione. 

Fight. 

I play the mantra over and over in my head as I try to escape the vines. 

Fight it, Hermione. 

The opening is starting to close now, the light slowly getting smaller. 

Fight, Hermione. Fight.

The vines have wrapped around my whole body now getting tighter and tighter. Somewhere deep in my mind, I hear Bellatrix still talking but I don’t dwell on it. All I'm thinking about right now is how the opening is getting smaller and smaller and the light going out of my reach. 

Fight it, Hermione. 

Fight. 

The light is right there. 

Yet so far out of reach… 

I wake up in a cold sweat shivering and terrified. My voice is raw from screaming and my head feels like someone just hit me with a bus and then decided to ram me into the ground for good measure. 

Fuck. That’s the fifth time this week, it’s been so long since I’ve had these many nightmares. 

I lift my wand from the nightstand beside me and with a wave of my hand check the time. 5:47 AM blinks back at me in red. 

I put my wand back, grab the glass of water I placed on the nightstand before bed, and take a deep sip. I fall back on my bed and ponder on about why I have had the same nightmare for the past five days. Knowing that sleep won’t come to me again I swing my legs over the bed and make it to the bathroom across my bedroom in the hall. 

Standing in front of the mirror I can see the evidence left behind from the nightmares. Dark bags form under my eyes, my skin is paler than the usual golden brown it is, and my eyes, so amber now are a dull shade of brown. 

I hate it. 

I hate it. 

I hate that even after all this time the war still has this, this, this influence over me. 

I brush my teeth and step into the shower. Turning the water to scalding hot I allow the pain of the heat to wash over me as I scrub myself clean. 

It’s no use. 

I don’t think I’ll ever be clean again. 

Not after the war. 

Not after the betrayal. 

Not after everything.

For breakfast, I allow myself to eat hearty food only because I know that I’m not going to eat anything for lunch, too caught up on my work and I’m not interested in another hour-long lecture from the Slytherins. And Ginny. 

I like to start my day with a simple but healthy breakfast usually. Preparing a bowl of Greek yogurt topped with fresh berries and a sprinkle of granola I  accompany this, with a cup of coffee to keep my eyes open throughout the day. This nutritious and delicious breakfast provides me with the energy and nutrients  I will need to tackle my busy day at the Ministry of Magic.

Plopping down on my small dining table nestled in a sunlit nook by the window, I open the copy of the Daily Prophet and skim over its contents. Taking a sip of my coffee I flip to the next page when I freeze. There on the second page is a picture of Ron and Padma Patil. The two are holding hands and have the expression of being in love clear as water on their faces. My eyes jump to the heading of the page: WAR HERO RONALD WEASLEY AND WAR SOLDIER PADMA PATIL ENGAGED!

As the headline settles in I read the contents of the page. 

Recently,  Mr. Weasley has lost a lot. First, he lost some of his family members in the war.  Then, he lost his ex-girlfriend and now ex-friend Hermione Granger two years ago. Though the fault is all Ms. Granger’s for leaving Mr. Weasley at a time when he needed her most. Finally, Mr. Weasley loses his sister who has decided to sever ties with her own family and join the Slytherins, specifically as the next Lady Nott. 

After reeling from this shock Mr. Weasley stated, “Returning to Hogwarts was supposed to be a fun experience, it wasn’t supposed to be me trying to find a way to save my dying relationship. I was supposed to join the Quidditch team again and then after completing my studies become an Auror with Harry”. 

Trying to save my dying relationship my arse. He didn’t even try. I was the one that didn’t stop trying throughout the year we dated.

Scoffing angrily I continue to read the section, all the while glaring daggers at it.

When asked about how his and Ms. Patil's or now soon-to-be Mrs. Weasley's relationship started, Mr. Weasley said, “Padma was there for me on the nights and days I mean, when everything became too much. I think I loved her before I even realized I did. So when she asked me if I wanted to go out sometime near the end of my final year in Hogwarts I immediately said yes, because blimey this woman is amazing! She knows how to make me smile, and laugh, and she’s just perfect!” 

When asked if he had any regrets from the past, He said, “The only thing I regret the most is not coming clean and taking her out when I should have. But I suppose I’m here with her by my side so it doesn’t matter as much. 

My eyes widen to the point that they are as big as my bowl containing my long-forgotten breakfast. So much for having a healthy breakfast this morning. 

I drop the paper on the table, my hands shaking. 

Ron was cheating on me. 

Ron was cheating on me in our last year at Hogwarts with Padma. 

Ron was cheating on me.

I can’t breathe. I can't breathe. I can’t breathe. 

Ron was cheating on me in our last year at Hogwarts with Padma when everything—. No. NO. When I became too much. 

Oh my god. Oh my god. OhmygodohmygodohmyGOD. 

Ron was cheating on me. 

Somewhere deep in my consciousness a memory flashes in my head. 

 It was a crisp autumn day, and the fallen leaves crunched beneath my feet as I made my way through the bustling streets of Diagon Alley. The warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as I approached the entrance of Flourish and Blotts, a well-known bookstore in the wizarding community. As I pushed open the creaking door, the familiar scent of parchment and ink greeted me, instantly bringing back memories of my Hogwarts days.

I was browsing through the shelves, running my fingers over the spines of various magical tomes, when I heard a voice that made my heart skip a beat. "Granger," it said, and I turned to see Draco Malfoy standing there, a slightly sheepish expression on his face.

"Malfoy," I responded, trying to keep my tone neutral. It had been two years since we left Hogwarts, and while the wounds of the past were not as fresh, they had not entirely faded.

"I... I wanted to talk to you," Malfoy began, his silver eyes meeting mine. "I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you at school. The things I said... they were unforgivable."

I felt a mixture of surprise and skepticism wash over me. Malfoy, of all people, apologizing? It seemed surreal. And yet, his voice was so sincere that I couldn't ignore it.

"I know I called you... that word," he continued, his voice faltering slightly. "I said things, and did things that were hurtful and hateful, and I understand if you can't forgive me for it. But I want you to know that I regret it deeply. I was wrong, and I'm truly sorry."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, the bustling sounds of the bookstore faded into the background. I looked into Malfoy's eyes and saw a vulnerability that I had never witnessed before. It was as if, in that moment, we were both just two individuals grappling with our past, trying to make sense of the years that had passed between us.

I could feel the weight of his words, and the sincerity behind his apology. It wasn't easy to let go of the pain, the resentment that had built up over the years. But in that moment, I found myself nodding slowly, a silent acknowledgment of his apology.

"Thank you, Malfoy," I said, surprising even myself with the genuine gratitude in my voice. "I appreciate your apology. It means a lot."

Slowly a huge, sincere, dimpled smile took upon Malfoy’s face, “Your welcome Granger. I — I don’t want to sound mocking or anything else but I heard about you and Weasel.” My smile falters but Mafoy continues, “Theo, I, and some of our other fellow Slytherins still stick together, and I had heard that you and Theo had recently become book buddies and that you would be coming to the Gambling Night this Friday at his place, so I wanted to apologize to you in private and before Friday night”. 

I smile as Malfoy fidgets in place worried about my response, “Dr — Malfoy, first of all, Thank you again for apologizing to me, secondly, yes, Ron and I aren’t together anymore, but it’s for the best and it doesn’t affect me anymore. He is continuing with his life and I am with mine, and lastly, just because Theo and I share the same interest in books, and spent Wednesday lunches discussing them doesn’t mean we are book buddies”. I finish with a smile taking up over my face. 

Malfoy gives me his signature Malfoy smirk and turns on his heel, toward the door. “Sure, sure Hermione , whatever lets you sleep at night”. He pushes open the door and walks out of the store and I try not to dwell on the fact that my first name on Malfoy’s lips is something I want to hear again and that my heart most definitely did not skip a beat. Again. 

I’m not sure what makes me walk out my door on shaky legs and apparate straight to Malfoy’s flat in London but the next thing I know is that I am standing in front of Malfoy's large and luxurious flat in East London that is a stunning display of opulence and elegance. 

I rap three times on the ornate double doors, before wrapping my arms around myself as if to prove that I still have some semblance of fight left in me, when in fact I do not anymore. 

After what felt like hours, the doors finally crack open and Malfoy’s silver eyes peer at me, before Malfoy, clad in a Navy blue jumper, black trousers, and socks realizes it’s me and fully swings open the door. 

“Granger? What are you—gods, are you alright? What happened?”

Stepping through the double doors, I am greeted by a grand foyer adorned with marble flooring and crystal chandeliers, casting a warm glow over the space. 

It takes all my strength to not break down then and there and say, “He cheated. He—he cheated on me”. 

Malfoys eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Granger,” Malfoy says in that slow, careful type of voice one might use when confronting a wild animal, “What are you talking about? Who are you talking about? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” 

“Ha!” I try to laugh but it sounds choked, “Am I hurt? I’m…yes, I think I am. I don’t know what to do, Malfoy. I don’t know what to do.” The sobs were shaking my whole body. 

Malfoy’s already pale skin pales even more and the expression on his face, so full of concern and confusion, may have made me laugh if I was in my right state of mind. 

“Okay, okay come on let’s go to the living room and then we can talk more about what’s going on”. Malfoy grabs my hand and leads me towards his living room. 

The living area boasts high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing natural light to illuminate the room and offering breathtaking views of the city skyline. The furnishings are a perfect blend of modern luxury and classic sophistication, featuring plush velvet sofas, intricately carved coffee tables, and exquisite works of art adorning the walls. Every detail has been meticulously designed to exude sophistication and style, from the ornate gold-leafed accents to the rich, jewel-toned upholstery.

We pass the spacious kitchen that is a chef's dream, equipped with state-of-the-art appliances, sleek granite countertops, and custom cabinetry. A large dining area adjacent to the kitchen provides the perfect setting for entertaining guests or hosting extravagant dinner parties.

Throughout the flat, every fixture and finish exudes luxury, from the sparkling crystal light fixtures to the gleaming hardwood floors. With its grandeur and attention to detail, Malfoy's flat is a true testament to refined living in the heart of East London.

Malfoy sets me on one of the plush velvet sofas and takes a seat beside me. 

“Okay now tell me what’s wrong? Who cheated on who?” 

Taking a deep breath I launch myself into the story of how I just uncovered that Ron was cheating on me with Padma. Malfoy’s face goes from worry to utter rage when I finish. 

“I am going to kill him. I am literally going to go and Avada that fucking Weasel. Potter too because from what you’ve told me you didn’t finish the whole section because it says Scarhead knew about the whole relationship and its originating. Fucking arseholes the two.” Malfoy stands and looks ready to eviscerate Ron and Harry but I grab his hand before he can make it to the elegant fireplace in his living room, “Please, please don’t leave me right now. Please, please, please Draco. ” I’m begging but I don’t care, I don’t want to be left alone right now and I’d rather have Malfoy with me than no one. 

I look up through my tear-filled eyes and  I’m not sure what causes him to freak out more, my current state causing me to plead, beg or the use of his first name coming from my mouth but an emotion flashes on Malfoy’s face, and is gone before I can dig deeper on it. 

Malfoy nods at me once before scooping me up from the sofa bridal style causing me to let out a squeak and walk us towards his bedroom. 

The master bedroom looks to be a sanctuary of comfort and indulgence, with a sumptuous king-sized bed, a cozy fireplace, and a private terrace offering panoramic views of the city below. The ensuite bathroom is a luxurious retreat, featuring a deep soaking claw-foot tub, a rain shower, and elegant marble finishes. Everything is in either emerald green, grey, or black. 

I can’t help but roll my eyes at it all. Malfoy looks down at me and smirks, “I’m a Slytherin Granger in case you’ve forgotten,” he says teasingly. 

He carefully sets me down on his bed and conjures a glass of water wandlessly before handing it to me. I may have been impressed if I weren’t so emotionally drained. 

“I can’t stay here Malfoy, I have to go to work. A new artifact is coming today and we have—” 

“Yes, you can and you will. No room for excuses Granger, and about work I think you’ve forgotten that we’re both Unspeakable s and work together so I can easily tell Roxham you aren’t feeling good.”

Grabbing the glass from my hands, Malfoy places it on the nightstand by his bed. Malfoy takes hold of my shoulders, and gently but firmly pushes me down onto the pillows lining the headboard. 

“Go to sleep Granger, I’ll make sure that you have lots of work to do when you wake up okay.” Malfoy smiles at me and to my shock places the gentlest kiss on my forehead. Just a brush of his soft rosy lips, so soft that for a second I think I imagined it but it’s enough to send butterflies flying in my stomach. 

What is going on? 

Malfoy stands up to leave the bedroom and before I can even comprehend what’s happening my hand shoots out to clasp his before he goes too far out of reach, Malfoy’s face mirrors the shock on mine but I tug him closer, “Stay. Please,” Malfoy slowly takes out his hand from my grip and places a kiss on my knuckles, “Go to sleep Granger, I promise to be here when you wake up alright”. 

I let Malfoys deep voice push me into oblivion and for the first time, I don’t fear the thought of going to sleep and waking from the nightmares. 

I wake up to a loud clang and shoot out from the bed, wand in hand at the ready due to instinct. 

Dammit I was actually enjoying sleep after so long. 

I check the time and almost die when it reads 5:28 PM but recover when I remember that Malfoy probably has already informed our boss. My head feels a bit hazy from all the tears and my sleep-addled state. 

Slowly I open the door of Malfoy’s and walk towards the living room. Turning the corner, disarming spell on my tongue I am greeted with Malfoy and Theo hovering around—, “What the—are those cookies?!” My hand falls to my side and I stare at the two incredulously. 

“Oh hey, Hermione! How’s it going Gorgeous? Yeah, sorry to wake you up, and uhm don’t mind the mess here Draco and I were trying to bake cookies for you and Ginny but we still have lots of learning to do.” Theo smiles at me and walks around the counter to pull me into his warm embrace. I instantly forget all the thoughts running in my head and allow myself to get caught up in Theo’s warmth. God this man is an angel . It’s not until we hear another clang that we break apart and turn to look at Mafloy who has a scowl on his face and mutters something under his breath while trying to get the burnt cookies under control. I laugh and walk towards the blonde, with a quick swish of my wand all the stuff goes back where it belongs and the cookies vanish. I turn towards Mafloy who has that strange expression on his face again that I can’t decipher. 

Suddenly Malfoy leans forward and tucks in a loose curl that’s escaped from my mane, fingertips brushing the side of my neck causing me to shiver, molten silver eyes burning into me. 

“ Hermione .” 

My breath hitches and I swallow roughly, Malfoy’s gaze drops to my lips and lingers there for a moment before flicking up to meet mine. Somewhere I hear Theo saying something but all I can focus on is how Malfoy’s eyes are silver not grey, silver, so silver with flecks of blue floating in them. 

“Hermione,” Malfoy says in that deep, smooth voice of his. 

When did Malfoy get this tall? When did his voice get so silky??? What is happening?!?!

“What?” I whisper. Malfoy leans in even closer if possible, “Theo is talking to you.” he whispers in my ear causing me to shiver again. My eyes suddenly widen as Malfoy’s words settle in and I quickly turn to Theo who is watching us with an amused smirk playing on his lips, “You two love birds finished? I can come back next year if you want. Make sure you have had a chance to shop for your new home and create mini Malfoys while you're at it. You know, I am quite generous.” Theo’s expression is so smug I would have slapped him if it weren’t for the mortifying blush taking over my face and the fact that Malfoy’s glare is enough to wither stone gargoyles. 

“Shut up Theo, and what were you guys doing anyways?” I cross my arms and frown at the Two Slytherins standing before me. Theo looks at me sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck, “Er—Draco and I were trying to make cookies for you and Gingersnap but they obviously didn’t turn out the way that we wanted'', he gives me a lop-sided grin and all my previous irritation with him dissipates as my face breaks into a smile. 

“You guys are ridiculous.” I laugh and Theo joins in with me, even Malfoy passes his dimpled smile causing my heart to die a bit, “Now come on you two, go get cleaned up a bit, no one wants to see whipped cream and flour-covered men at Gambling Night. 

“You sure Granger, I know a lot of people who would want to see me covered in whipped cream,” Malfoy turns towards me, a smug look on his face. 

Theo runs a hand through his flour-covered mess of hair, “Yes, actually if my memory serves me right the first name in that list starts with an H and ends with an E . If only we knew who it is. Hmmm, I wonder—oh wait I know someone her name is—” Theo’s words get muffled as I throw more flour into his face, now fully covered in flour self he glares at me, “I hate you”.

 The last thing Theo hears before calling Nott Manor in the floo is the cackle and howl of  Draco’s and my laughter together. 

After heading back to my flat to change—nothing too fancy, just a knee-length dress in deep maroon with white heels, that Pansy will approve of— I apparate at 6 PM and walk into The Three Broomsticks, a popular wizarding pub in Hogsmeade

Making my way to the table in the corner, I’m greeted by a lively scene. Malfoy, Theo, Ginny, Pansy, Blaise, and Neville were all engaged in animated conversation, their expressions filled with joy and excitement.

"Hey, Granger!" Blaise calls out, noticing my arrival. "Come join us. We were just discussing some Ministry gossip."

The group welcomed me, and Ginny couldn’t contain her excitement as she raised her hand to show off the engagement ring on her finger. "Hermione, you made it! We have so much to celebrate today," Ginny exclaims, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

I beam at Ginny and congratulate her and Theo on their engagement. The group erupts into cheers and clinking of glasses as they toast to the happy couple.

As the celebration continues, Ginny leans in closer to me, her expression turning more serious. "I also wanted to talk to you about something important. I've decided to not invite my family to the wedding," Ginny says with a determined look in her eye.

My brows furrow in concern as I listen attentively. Ginny went on to explain her reasons, sharing her perspective on the situation and the difficult choices she has had to grapple with.

“Of course, they know about my engagement and I did invite them but if they don’t want to come then it’s their choice I’m not going to plead with them. And besides it’s not like it will be a grand wedding, it’ll just be our close ones in the gardens at Nott Manor”. 

The group falls into a thoughtful silence, understanding the weight of Ginny's decision. Pansy and Neville offer their support, while Theo and Blaise listen with empathy. Daphne was visiting her parents but had already said congrats and her condolences earlier. 

I reach out and squeeze Ginny's hand. "I'm here for you, Gin. Whatever you decide, I'll stand by you," I assure her, conveying my unwavering support.

The conversation shifts to heartfelt discussions and expressions of solidarity, as we all raise our glasses to the enduring bonds of friendship and the promise of new beginnings.

By two hours Ginny, Pansy, and even Malfoy have discussed, argued, and decided on the details of the wedding while Theo, Blaise, and I finish up our fifth round of the game. Neville is off to get us another round of drinks. 

“Red you can’t just have red and gold themed everything you know,” Malfoy says, taking a sip of firewhisky and placing the glass back on the table with elegance, “You’re marrying a Slytherin, and many fellow Slytherins are going to be there too”. 

Ginny opens her mouth to say retort no doubt but clamps it shut when the door to the Broomsticks opens and an all too familiar voice fills the air, “Madam Rosmerta, can you please clear a table for us four?” Harry’s voice pierces through the pub and heads straight into my heart causing me to flinch slightly. 

What were the bloody chances? 

Of course, after being able to mercifully avoid seeing Harry or Ron, I had to see them today, the day Ginny and Theo were going to announce their engagement, and when I had just found out that Ron had cheated on me. 

Why? Does the universe hate me? 

Eyes wide everyone turns to look at each other, with Malfoy glaring daggers at where the voice now joined by Luna's sing-song voice is coming from and Theo looking at Ginny with an expression full of worry. Ginny and Harry haven’t talked for almost a year since their break-up and Ginny went out with Theo, while Harry tried to find solace in Luna’s company. At least that’s what Rita Skeeter said in the Daily Prophet. 

Harry followed by Luna comes into my line of sight and even though they haven’t spotted us yet is enough to make my hands shake slightly from where they rest on the table. 

Harry and Luna take a seat at a table near the door effectively blocking any chance at discreet escape. Wait, didn't Harry say a table for four? 

Of course. 

Ron. 

And Padma. 

Yup, the universe hates me.

Just when I think they won’t notice us Nevile walks towards us with our drinks in hand.

“Neville?” Ron says putting an arm around Padma. Neville turns towards the four shock playing on his face but it’s not even close enough to the shock that appears on Harry and Ron’s faces once they spot us all, especially when they see Theo’s arm around Ginny’s waist and my hand in Malfoy’s. 

Wait, when did Malfoy grab my hand? Or did I grab his? Ugh!

“Hermione, Ginny, what are you guys doing here?’ Harry inquires standing up now to join Ron and Padma from where they stand near the door. 

Ginny stands up and opens her mouth to respond but Theo beats her to it standing up as well, “We were just celebrating mine and Gingersnap's engagement. What about you lot?” Theo smirks at them, while Ginny scowls at her fiance. Typical Slytherins. Always have to portray their possessiveness. 

Ron’s face turns beet red in rage and he removes his arm from around Padma’s shoulder, “You're engaged to him now? Why? Did the rest of the men in the world die or something that you had to spread your legs for a fucking Death Eater?” Ron spits out while glaring daggers at the two. 

Theo’s green eyes flash with anger, but Malfoy stands up causing me to stand as well, and  takes a step forward, “Be careful how you talk about her Weasel, she may be your sister but there’s no way in hell any of us are going to quietly listen to you spew bullshit about Red.” 

Blaise, Pansy, and Neville now all form a semi-circle around Theo and Ginny, with Malfoy and I standing side by side with them. 

“Yeah Fleabag it would be in your best desires to keep your mouth shut because we snakes don’t hear a word against ours,” Pansy says a smug smirk on her face which grows as Ron’s face goes even redder. 

“ Ours? Oh, so she’s yours now?!” Ron yells. 

“Yes she is, and like Draco and Pans said it would be best if you refrain from saying nonsense like that,” Blaise says, taking a few steps forward. 

Ron glares at him before his blue eyes turn to mine, “Hermione what are you doing here with these monsters?!  Are you hearing this? They’ve brainwashed you two. I wouldn’t be surprised if you guys are under the imperius right now.” 

I suddenly remember the Daily Prophet’s copy this morning and Ron’s loud and clear declaration of cheating on me and see red rage bubbling in my chest, “What does it matter if they have brainwashed us, Ron? I’d much rather be brainwashed by people I have just become friends with than be cheated on by someone I knew for almost eight fucking years of my life!” 

Where once Ron was going red he now pales. “Mione—that, it… I—I” Ron stammers. 

I glare at him and step forward until we’re about a couple of feet apart, “That’s right Ronald Weasley. I don’t live under a fucking rock, I too get a copy of the Daily Prophet every morning, and guess the amount of anger I felt this morning when I got my copy and read that my ex-boyfriend, my best friend cheated on me when everything became too much!” I throw my hands in the air, “Since you were coming clean why didn’t you scrub yourself a bit more and say when I  became too much for you like you had wanted to!!” I scream causing Ron, Padma, and Harry to flinch. Even Luna takes a step back. 

   “Hermione, we—I am sorry, I knew it was wrong and supported Ron, but it’s just that—” Harry starts but is cut off by Malfoy’s booming voice, “Oh cut the bullshit, Scarhead, you could have told her the moment you knew but you decided to keep your mouth shut then, so now don’t go being all guilty about it when you could have saved her from finding out through the fucking papers instead of hearing it from her best friend who’s arse she saved on more times than once!” 

“Hermione, I—I’m so sorry but you were so sad all the time and we would always fight and argue and Padma was there for me and it just happened . I swear I was going to tell you and then—” This time Pansy interrupts Ron, “Oh please Dickhead, don’t you get tired of repeating the same shit over and over? She doesn’t need your useless apology nor does she want it so it would do us all good if you could just shut the fuck up.”

“ Sad?!” I yell, oh my god this man is insane, “Of course, I was sad Ron, we had just come out of a fucking war what did you expect, me to fall head over heels in love with you and forget about everything else? And yes we did argue and fight all the time but that doesn’t mean you get a free pass to cheat on me or anyone for that matter! No wonder you didn’t bother with trying to convince me not to end things when you obviously had just found your ticket out”.  

“I know Hermione, and I am so sorry for that. You didn’t deserve it and I know that,” Ron reaches for my hand and clasps it in his blue eyes pleading with me. 

I cannot believe this man right now. Is he serious? 

There is a moment of suspended silence, before Malfoy scoffs, moving to stand beside me. 

“No, he’s not,” Malfoy sneers. “He’s just sorry his little affair with Patil got caught”. 

Ron’s rage comes back in an instant and he drops my hand, “You—” 

“Enough!” Harry’s voice cracks the air like a whip. “He’s not worth it Ron,” he says calmly.

“Yeah, I wouldn't want all that Auror training of yours to go to waste,” Malfoy sneers. “Who knows they might even kick you out for attempted assault on not only a fellow innocent citizen but also a worker for the Ministry”. 

“ Innocent and you, a fucking Death Eater,” Ron snarls. “I think not”. 

“ Former Death Eater Weasel, thank you very much. Do you happen to have short-term memory loss or must I remind you over and over,” Malfoy throws Harry a falsely cheerful smile, “Thank you for saving the day again Potter, who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t intervened. To your precious Weasel of course”. Harry glares at Malfoy venomously. 

“Lovely, now that that is done and sorted,” Malfoy clasps his hands together, then turns towards me and offers me his arm, “Shall we get going, Hermione ? It is late now and I know you must miss my bed?” Ron stutters and Harry looks positively heartbroken. Slytherins I think and roll my eyes at Mafloy who is obviously enjoying baiting Ron and Harry with false information. Malfoy smirks at me with a smug, amused look on his face as if to say, Scared Granger?  And being the overachiever that I am, I give him a small smile and move to take his arm. 

“Hermione, please,” Harry pleads, “Just… please”. 

I don’t need him to finish the sentence, I already know. 

Please don’t go with him. 

Please stay with us. 

Please forgive Ron and I. 

Please let things be like they once were. 

Please, please. 

Please . 

I turn to face Malfoy fully, “Right,” I say taking his arm, “Let’s go back to your cozy bed Draco, Merlin knows how much I miss it already”. 

We start walking towards the door, hearing Ron and Harry’s angry stammers and the cackles of our friends combined,  and ignore them all.

“ Hermione !” 

Ron shouts loudly enough that it can be heard from the other side of the closed door. 

Picking up speed we quickly walk away from the pub before anyone tries to stop us. 

Once we’re several blocks away and at a safer distance, Malfoy begins to laugh. Not his usual chuckle, laugh. It’s a beautiful sound loud and thunderous that shakes me to my core. 

It’s also something I would like to hear again. 

“Stop that,” I say but can’t help the sheepish grin that appears on my face, “That could have been really awful”. 

“Oh gods, I think I might die from laughing so much. Salazar I haven’t laughed this hard in a while,” Malfoy wipes his eyes where they have gotten a bit misty from laughing so hard and smiles at me widely with those knicker-dropping dimples of his, “I can’t help it, it’s not my fault that was so much fun. It’s not every day where I get to push Weasel and Scarhead’s buttons. Gods did you see their faces when I said about you missing my bed?! If I had known that that was going to be their expression I would have started spreading rumors about you sleeping with me a long time ago Granger,” Malfoy shakes his head and chuckles. 

“Oh shut it,” I say playfully, swatting him on the shoulders, “Slytherins,” I mutter with a roll of my eyes. And when Malfoy offers his arm again to apparate us to his flat, I take it.  

We apparate straight into Malfoy’s living room. Taking off my heels I fall onto the sofa, exhaustion slowly catching up to me, I glance at the grandfather clock on my right: 8:34 PM it reads. 

“Tired?” Malfoy asks, handing me a glass of wine and sitting beside me. 

“You have no idea. I never thanked you you know” I reply, taking a sip of the elf-made wine Malfoy keeps in his flat. 

Malfoy raises a brow, “Thank me for what Granger? Spreading rumors that we’re sleeping together?” Malfoy smirks at me and I swat him on the shoulder again, “Oh shut it about that already, you ferret. You know what I mean. I never thanked you for letting me stay in your flat today and for standing up for me earlier as well, so thank you so much Draco Malfoy”. 

Malfoy smiles at me and takes a sip from his glass of wine, “Anytime Hermione , you know I love a good chance at baiting Weasel wouldn’t miss it for the world, the wonders it does to my self-esteem”. Placing his now-finished glass of wine on the table Malfoy turns to me with a look in his eyes, “Now if you're too tired we can do this some other day but I was wondering if you wanted to take a look at the rock thingy? It’s completely fine if you aren’t in the mood because, to be honest, we both are a bit drunk right now, but I think that we’ll be fine.” Immediately all my exhaustion disappears with the mention of the rock. I haven’t been able to stop wondering about what it could be. 

Nodding enthusiastically, “Of course do you think I would give up the chance to look at a new unidentifiable artifact.?” I smile and Malfoy throws me a grin before getting up and giving me a hand.  Taking it, we walk towards Malfoy’s office. 

Malfoy's office in his flat is quite a sight to behold. The room is elegantly furnished with luxurious, dark wood furniture. A large mahogany desk sits in the center of the room with the stone placed on top of it, adorned with intricate carvings and gilded edges. The room exudes an air of sophistication, with rich mahogany accents and plush leather chairs. The leather chair behind the desk looks incredibly comfortable and regal, befitting Malfoy's status. There are tall bookshelves lining the walls, filled with impressive tomes and antique artifacts. The room exudes an air of wealth and refinement, with plush Persian rugs adorning the dark wooden floor. The flickering light of the fireplace adds a warm and inviting ambiance to the space. 

Malfoy sends a jotter to Theo quickly telling him that I have made it back to his flat safe and sound and that we can all meet up tomorrow for lunch while I start examining the obsidian stone on his desk. It looks quite plain to the naked eye but maybe that was the intention of whoever created this, maybe even Voldemort himself did. I grab my wand and perform all the necessary spells and then some more complex spells we are taught as Unspeakables. When nothing out of the ordinary appears Malfoy growls in anger and picks up the rock, “Stupid, bloody rock, why the fuck do I even have it?!” Angrily Malfoy throws the rock onto the Persian rug by the fireplace. 

“Malfoy! You can’t just go throwing things around because you haven’t figured it out yet. What if it’s charmed not to reveal anything? You throwing it around like a sack of potatoes won’t change anything, it will only break it”. 

I walk over to where the rock is now lying near the fireplace and kneel to check for any cracks. 

“It’s useless Granger. It’s probably just a boring rock that Voldemort may have found and planned on using or something but the noseless git died before he could,” I snort at the use of ‘noseless git’ and Malfoy cracks a grin on his otherwise fuming face, “Maybe but it doesn’t bother to check and it also doesn’t do any good to throw it. Now there aren’t any cracks,” Maloy scoffs, “ Yet but if you throw it once more I swear to every deity above Malfoy I will bind you to that chair.” 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time Granger, if you had wanted to tie me up you could have just asked I would have said yes in a heartbeat,” Malfoy’s smug expression is infuriating.

God this man really is an insufferable ferret. 

I glare at him and move my hands to grab the rock, “GRANGER! Are you completely mad?! Do you have a fucking death wish or something?” Malfoy yells, but I ignore him and pick up the rock. “See Malfoy, I’m fine, I assure you if it was cursed then I would have been dead by now,” I say. 

Suddenly the stone begins to glow brightly and heat like fiendfyre emanates from it, burning my hands and causing me to drop the stone on the rug and take a few steps back. So much for yelling at Malfoy for dropping the rock. 

Hello Little Viper. Did you miss me? A familiar voice whispers in my mind causing me to shiver. 

“What the fuck?! Granger, are you alright, what did you do?!” Malfoy questions loudly, moving to stand in front of me slightly. 

“I didn’t do anything Malfoy, I have no idea what the hell is going on,” I turn and glare at the blonde who now has his wand out and pointed towards the stone that is beginning to spin in rapid circles in the same spot on the rug. Surprisingly it hasn’t burned Malfoy’s rug yet. 

An invisible force pushes me towards the stone. 

Malfoy opens his mouth, a sneer playing on his face when the stone abruptly stops . 

The force gives another firm shove causing me to take a couple of steps towards the still glowing with blinding white light stone. I can hear Malfoy saying my name but all I can think about is the sudden urge to touch the stone. 

On firm, determined legs that shock me, I close the distance between the stone and me and kneel. 

Hello Little Viper. 

That voice invades my senses once more. 

“Granger?? GRANGER?! Granger what the fuck is going on?!?! What are you doing?” Malfoy yells. 

I don’t know!  I want to scream at him but my mind is currently in this haze with only one thing in mind: Touch that stone, Hermione. The sentence plays in my head like a mantra.

I reach out towards that gravitational pull, and with unsteady hands, place them around the stone. 

Malfoy is screaming now, loud enough that it thunders in the room but I don’t hear it. The only thing I hear is that slow, seductive, deep voice in my head. Good girl, such a good girl you are Little Viper. If I was in my right mind I may have been mortified but instead, my mind keens at the praise being showered upon me for doing something that is clearly so wrong. 

I feel a tug in my navel, similar to the one you feel when starting to apparate or getting sucked into a pensieve but stronger, a hundred times stronger. 

I try to let go of the stone but it seems my hands are glued onto it. 

Don’t let go now Little Viper. Not when you’ve gotten so far. 

Do not let go now. 

Malfoy’s yelling doesn’t stop, it only seems to rise, from the way that the floor is vibrating but I am not sure if it’s from his voice or the stone’s magic. 

Heedy, strong, and seductive magic. 

One that is sending sparks throughout my entire body. 

The tug grows, and the stone seems to swallow me whole, enveloping me in a cold, unyielding grip that strips away any sense of space or direction. 

The last thing I hear before darkness consumes me whole is Malfoy’s animalistic growl, that shatters glass. 

 “HERMIONE!!!” 

Chapter Text

"Whatever our souls are made of,

his and mine are the same."

- Emily Bronte 

Getting sucked into a bloody rock is quite dreadful. 

I would not recommend it. 

Not that people are idiots. 

I know that I am certainly not. 

But yet here I am. 

Fucked. 

Utterly. 

Completely. 

Brutally.

Fucked . 

My body feels like I have been through a brutal battle. The dull, persistent pain lingers in my muscles, making every movement a challenge. It's as though I've been relentlessly pummeled, leaving me feeling tender and battered all over. Even the gentlest touch sends waves of discomfort through my body, and the thought of moving is almost unbearable.

My head feels like there is a vice-like grip clamping down on my head, causing intense throbbing and piercing pain with every heartbeat. The discomfort is so overwhelming that it becomes challenging to focus on anything else, and even the slightest movement or noise can feel like agony. It's as if my head is filled with fog, making it difficult to think clearly or function normally. It’s like having a migraine as if someone is repeatedly pounding on my skull, causing discomfort and making it challenging to carry out even the simplest tasks.

Waking up on gravel feels like being jolted into reality by an uncomfortable and gritty sensation. It's as if the rough texture of the gravel beneath me demands my immediate attention, making it impossible to ignore or dismiss. My senses are immediately overwhelmed by the harshness of the gravel, As I try to gain my bearings, the sensation of tiny, sharp rocks beneath me adds to the overall discomfort, making it challenging to focus on anything else until I manage to stand up and brush myself off, and the discomfort of the uneven surface jolts me into a state of heightened awareness. As I try to orient myself, the presence of the gravel under my body creates a disorienting and jarring experience, leaving me acutely aware of every small, sharp pebble pressing against my skin. 

My eyes fly open and immediately I am assaulted by a blinding light that feels like an overwhelming and intense sensory experience. It's as if every other detail and sensation fades into the background, and all that exists is the relentless brightness, searing through my vision and overwhelming my senses. It's disorienting, uncomfortable, and leaves me struggling to see anything else clearly. It’s like being in a completely dark room for a long time, with your eyes adjusting to the darkness and then suddenly, someone turns on an extremely bright light, and the initial shock feels like a physical assault on your eyes. It's disorienting and overwhelming, and it takes some time for my vision to readjust and for the discomfort to subside.

I slowly rise, my breathing coming in short pants as pain runs through my body. 

Where the fuck am I? 

I push myself onto my feet, blood rushing to my head too quickly, but I shake off the spell of dizziness and remain on my feet. My wand. Where the fuck is my wand? 

I close my eyes as the pain slowly subsides. I was in Draco’s office, examining the stone and then Draco threw it and when I touched it it started to glow and spin, and then —. 

Oh no. 

Oh fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

I got sucked into the stone. 

The stone brought me here. Wherever here is. 

Shit. 

I got sucked into the stone. 

My wand. 

My wand is missing. 

Oh, fuck me, universe. 

I quickly shove my ascending panic aside and take a look at my surroundings. I had landed under a dim street light in a darkened alley sometime during the night— hence the blinding light—. The clock tower stood in the distance reading fifteen minutes until midnight, was the only thing that seemed the same. The rest is completely different . 

The cityscape is adorned with a mix of architectural styles, including Victorian, Edwardian, and early Modernist buildings. Many of these structures are gracefully illuminated by the warm glow of gas lamps or incandescent lighting, accentuating their intricate facades and ornate details. The soft light casts gentle shadows, creating a sense of depth and character. The neon signs from businesses and entertainment venues add a touch of modernity to the overall classic charm of the city's nighttime skyline. The combination of old-world elegance and subtle modern influences contributes to the enchanting and evocative ambiance only seen in Muggle London's buildings at night

Okay, so I am in Muggle London right now. 

But most definitely not in the 2000s 

I fall over the cliff of panic. 

My wand is gone. 

I am not in the 2000s anymore. 

The scenery is different.

Draco most definitely does not exist at this time. 

Nor do any of my friends.

And I am fucked. 

“Fuck,” I whisper to no one but myself. 

I take a step back but stumble on something. Looking down I see the stone. 

Oh, you absolute fucker. I should have let Malfoy smash you into bits. 

Huffing angrily I pick up the blasted stone and am about to throw it away myself when I notice something. A crack has appeared on the stone, starting from the tip of it and running in a straight but jagged line all the way to the base of the stone. Strangely, there was no crack when Mafloy threw the rock. Unless… 

Did this crack have something to do with appearing here? 

I turn the stone this way and wait, hoping for it to start glowing again but nothing happens. My silver bracelet jingles on my right arm with the movement. 

I freeze. 

My bracelet. 

It has my beaded bag shrunken and hooked as a charm on it. Oh, thank god for small mercies. 

I breathe a sigh of relief but then start to hyperventilate again. Leaning against a tree with the stone in my hand I struggle to breathe. My muscles ache and my whole body was burning, but the pain was hardly noticeable over the fear that was banging on my senses, threatening to overwhelm me. My vision was blurring and I could taste bile clawing its way up my throat. 

Closing my eyes tightly I forced myself to breathe, going through the techniques Roxham taught us while training to become Unspeakable. It takes longer than usual but I manage to find myself out of the chamber of panic in my mind. Running through all the information I have just learned I’m able to determine where I am, I’m just terrified to learn when . 

Turning towards the darkened alley where I had landed I stick my wand arm out and wait for the Knight Bus. It appears a moment later and with it comes a tiny spark of hope. 

The door opens and a tall, gangly man with shabby brown hair that lays flat on his head steps out. “Hello and welcome to the Knight Bus. I am Robert Hertigo here to provide my service to, Miss..?” 

I pause, “Hermione”. 

The conductor smiles and steps aside to let me in. The driver is also unfamiliar but I suppose it is for the best. Better to not be recognized. 

“Now Miss Hermione, please tell us where we shall take you?” The conductor— Robert asks. 

“Oh uh, please take me to Diagon Alley Mr. Hertigo.” 

Robert smiles again and nods, “We have a few stops to make before that, and they do happen to be out of the way, so it could take a bit… I hope that is alright, unless there is an emergency and you would like us to drop you off there immediately Miss? 

I frown, “No. No, there is no emergency please make other stops first,  would like to rest through the night anyway,” I hand him a single galleon I happen to have in my dress pockets hoping it’ll be enough. Robert politely takes it and asks if I want the change. I internally breathe in relief but shake my head. 

“Please feel free to take any curtained space on the second level Miss, and do let me know if you need anything,” Robert says. 

I nod my head and thank him, making my way to the steps that lead to the second level when I suddenly remember something, “Oh uh, Mr. Hertigo… Would you mind giving me today’s paper? I missed it.” 

“Of course Miss! Here you are,” The conductor hands me an issue of the Daily Prophet . 

“Thank you.” I smile and practically bound up the stairs in haste to find a private space to learn the answer to the question that had been tormenting me since I arrived here. 

Choosing the space furthest from the front of the bus, I sit down on the side of the bed and take many deep breaths to calm my heart which is racing as fast as the Hogwarts Express and pick up the Prophet’s latest copy. 

March 3rd, 1950. 

I almost pass out on the spot. 

March 3rd, 1950. 

MARCH 3RD, 1950. 

Oh shit. 

Oh fuck. 

Oh fuck fuck fuck. FUCK. 

My hands begin to shake uncontrollably. 

It’s March 3rd, 1950 and in less than five minutes it will be March 4th, 1950. 

Oh dear god. 

The stupid fucking stone brought me back in time to the 1950s. 

This time I do pass out. 

“Miss Hermione, Miss? We have arrived at your requested destination Miss.” I wake to Robert standing beside my little cot. Concern laced in his smile. 

“Oh uh, my destination? Right,” I slowly rise, my muscles aching in protest and smile at the conductor, but with the way his eyebrows raise slightly in worry, it was most likely a grimace at best. Thankfully he doesn’t say anything and walks away. 

Standing on my feet, memories of the previous night bombard my mind before I can pull my occlumency walls up. Hermione Jean Granger stop panicking every given moment of the day. Right now you need to find a wand and a place to stay, immediately! 

I wonder what Malfoy is doing right now? Did he go to our boss David Roxham? Wait, didn’t Malfoy say he hadn’t gone to Roxham with the item? Question after question piles up in my mind. 

Roxham would be thoroughly disappointed right now, I think as I hastily make my way to the main deck. 

Stepping out of the Knight Bus I thank Robert and make my way to Ollivander’s through the buzz in Diagon Alley in the morning.

Wand, I need to get myself a wand before anything.  

The shop looked the same still, small and crowded with tons and thousands of wands in towers, Ollivander however looked nothing like the one I knew in my time. He was younger. Obviously. Blonde hair, instead of the familiar white I was familiar with but with the same thickness, and his eyes still gleamed like crystals. 

“Hello, Miss,” Ollivander says looking up from his work. “May I help you?” 

“Yes please, I want to purchase a wand, you see.” 

Ollivander’s eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “ You want to purchase a wand , Miss?” he asks, looking at me like I’d grown another head. 

“Yes.” I smile but it’s forced and judging from how Ollivander clamps his mouth shut and comes around the counter to speak with me better, he can sense my growing irritation. 

“Apologies Miss, I didn’t mean to offend you in any way, it's just I don’t often find grown women coming here to purchase a wand, it’s usually the eleven-year-olds. Why do you need another wand if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“Oh, uh, you see I was robbed and my old wand broke.” I need to come up with a backstory. 

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that Miss, now would you mind telling me who your previous wand was from, just so I can see if I can find something similar for you,” Ollivander says with a small smile. 

“Thiago Quintana,” I reply automatically,  suddenly very grateful for the History of American Wizarding: Everything You Need To Know About American Wizarding Culture book Theo had given me during one of our Wednesday Lunch outings. Thinking about Theo has me slamming my walls back up. I cannot think about anyone just yet, not until I’m somewhere private. 

“Ah American, well I’m afraid that won’t be much help but let me see what I can find for you Miss.” With that Ollivander clapped his hands together gleefully and began reaching for several boxes. 

“Here Miss, try this one first.” Ollivander hands me a wand, “10 inches, vine with unicorn hair core.” 

A giddy sense of excitement wafts over me, the same feeling I had felt when I came here the first time around. It was truly a magical, ethereal sort of feeling. I can vividly remember being eleven and coming here with my parents, and the way it had felt to create sparks from a piece of wood. 

I had just grabbed the wand when Ollivander snatched it from my hand and placed a different one in it. 

“Try this one Miss, it’s pear, with unicorn hair core again and 12 inches.” 

I did a little swish but Ollivander took it from my hands again. 

“This one. This is it for you, I am certain this time.” Ollivander says while handing me a long wand. 

He had barely placed the wand in my hands when with a jolt realization wacks me in the face. 

Ollivander began listing off the wand’s characteristics, “12 and a half inches, ash, dragon heartstring. Absolutely lethal when bonded with a powerful witch or wizard. 

I have seen this wand. 

I have been attacked with this wand. 

Because this wand is Antonin Dolohov’s wand. 

The wand that almost killed me. 

Absolutely lethal. 

No shit Hermione, it almost killed you, there’s a reason why it’s lethal. 

It didn’t matter. This wand would not work for me. I am certain this wand won’t work for me.      

I hate being wrong. 

Because the moment the wand is in my hand a warm, buzzing feeling overcomes my body. I had just lifted it and sparks like stars shooting from the sky emitted from it. They were amazing, beautiful. They were fucking magical. The notion was so unexpected and jaw-dropping that I forgot I should be horrified at the fact that Antonin Dolohov’s wand was bonding with me. 

Ollivander applauds loudly, almost jumping up and down as if he hasn’t just mortified my entire being by placing Antonin fucking Dolohov’s wand in my hands. 

“Amazing, amazing, bravo! It’s a perfect match!” 

I open my mouth to tell him no, that I cannot take this wand when a voice inside my head makes me shut it immediately. Yes, you can. 

Are you mad, no I can’t. I can’t just take the wand of the man who tried to end me. My own voice sounds child-like, petulant. 

But those things haven’t occurred yet. You can’t blame a wand when its owner was the one that almost killed you. 

But… I feel mortified, disgusted by it. 

Do you now? The voice inquires in that soothing academic way one could use when talking to a child

I turn the wand in my hand, igniting more little bright sparks from it. In truth, the wand felt powerful beneath my hands. Visceral. It felt right . 

And, you should find it soothing that the man who tried to kill you, his wand is what you're taking now. 

I allow the sly smile to take up on my face and turn to face Ollivander again who is staring at me with his eyebrows slightly raised. 

“Alright then,” I say, my sly smile turning into a real one. “I’ll take it.” 

This time Ollivander does jump up and down. 

After using the wand to enlarge the beaded bag I pay Ollivander, and exit the shop. 

I find a musky little motel that dances along the edge of Diagon Alley and am able to procure a room for a few days. 

Finally, I can unpack all this. The stone rests in my beaded bag now, I’ve gotten tired of carrying it in my dress pockets. 

The room is small and dimly lit, with cracked, off-white walls that looked like they hadn't been painted in decades. A single, dusty window barely let in any light, and the curtains were tattered and yellowed. The furniture was worn and nondescript, with a lumpy mattress covered by a faded quilt. The air held a musty smell, and the floor creaked with every step. 

It was the kind of place that made you instinctively check for bedbugs and wash your hands after touching anything. 

By the time I start making my way back to the Motel, the sun has set and the crowd has reduced by a lot. 

I turn left when a woman’s voice flits my thoughts. Muffled cries for help are coming through a dark alley further up ahead. Without a second thought, I rush towards the sound and find a group of seven menacing goons surrounding an elderly woman with curly dirty auburn hair in restraints. I spy her wand lying on the ground a couple of feet away from her snapped in two. The woman looks scared and helpless trying to escape, and I know I have to act fast.

 Using my quick thinking and magical skills, I manage to distract a goon with flat blonde hair and stubble lining his jaw with a stunning spell that leaves him temporarily immobilized, and then chaos ensues…

Aware of my intrusion two of them start casting spell after spell towards me. I face the goons with steely determination, my wand at the ready. The goons, emboldened by their numbers, sneer at me, thinking I’m just a mere woman. But I am no ordinary woman. 

I am Hermione fucking Granger. 

With a flick of my wand,   I cast a stunning spell, causing a goon and another one that I had immobilized mere moments ago to stumble and fall to the ground. Before the others can react, I conjure a protective shield around myself, deflecting their curses and hexes. As the goons charge at me, I swiftly disarm them with a well-aimed Expelliarmus spell, causing their wands to fly out of their hands. I cast an Immobulus spell on three goons effectively stopping them from harming me. I hear an ear-piercing scream rent the air and turn my wand on a stout man with busy red hair who pushes a knife into the woman’s abdomen, he pulls out the now bloody knife and then quickly disapparates. I turn toward the last one left,  a tall man with curly brown hair and fire an Expelliarmus quicker than he can blink and I’m about to incapacitate him when he ducks and pulls out two knives hurling one my way. The knife zooms past my arm making me drop my wand. 

Fuck. 

The man rushes towards me with the knife at the ready and I manage to sidestep him but not before he slices a cut through my right palm. I hiss in pain but scoop up my knife and cast a hex towards him. He spins around dodging my hex and with a menacing glare disapparates with a loud crack. I grip my palm and spin around rushing towards the woman. Removing the binds the woman sags onto the ground and I press my sliced-up hand and my other one over it to her stab wound. 

“It’s—it’s no use dearest.” Her voice is raspy and she breathes harshly as if each breath is costing her her life. 

“No it’s okay, let me… see what I can do—I can save you I promise, just please hold on Miss.” I plead with her tears appearing in my eyes and press harder onto her wound but the blood seems to start coming faster. I lift my left arm and summon my wand to me ready to cast every healing spell I know when the woman stops me. 

“No it’s alright dearest, my time has come and I must go. I only regret not giving my brother the letter.” 

Tears are now flowing freely down my face, blurring my image, “I’m so sorry.” 

The woman smiles weakly, her own blue eyes shining with unshed tears, “That’s alright, it wasn’t your fault. Now I know that this may be sudden but can you make me a promise dearest?” The woman takes another ragged breath and slowly lifts her left arm to cup my wet cheek, stroking my cheekbone with her thumb slowly. “Can you please deliver the letter in my pocket to its listed address? I need my brother to know the truth. Please dearest can you do that for me? Can you fulfill a dying woman’s final wishes please?” 

I nod, and the woman smiles at me again as if I have just promised her all of heaven. 

“Thank you dearest. Thank you so, so much!” Her eyes flutter and her breathing becomes much slower now. 

Suddenly a light starts to glow from the woman’s abdomen, where my hands are pressed. It glows brighter and brighter like a glowing crystal before suddenly it explodes and thin strings of white light wrap around my right arm and the woman's right arm swirling and circling like binds. My eyes widen, and I frantically try to pull away but the strings of light hold on tightly and continue wrapping them around my arm and the woman’s. The woman’s eyes open slightly and she looks at the light emanating from her abdomen and the strings and smiles, completely unperturbed by this. 

With a final ragged breath, the woman's hand falls limp by her side and the strings glow brightly once. Twice. Then disappear, leaving behind a small gold G on my right arm, where they were coiled around tightly on my wrist. 

What. The. Fuck. 

I pull my hands away and examine the little tattoo. What the fuck is this? A nearby shop owner had heard the commotion and appears in the alley. His eyes widen until they are about the same size as elf eyes and he takes a step back. 

“What the…? What happened here girl?” he asks, shaking his head and looking at the goons now all tied together and steps towards me. 

I explain to him the situation I had found myself in and he looks at me pitifully. “Why don’t ya go home, I’ll take care of this alright. You look quite shaken up and could use some rest.” 

I mutter a thank you and quickly ruffle through the woman’s robe to find the letter and quickly start walking towards the motel before anyone else can try to stop me. 

Closing the door of my room I sink down as the whole event slams into me and I raise my walls again. My new tattoo catches my attention again and I turn my hand, palm facing towards me and examine it again. Strange, I have never seen anything like this. I wonder what it could mean. 

I cast a healing charm on my hand and watch as the wound closes, before standing up and falling onto my bed. Exhaustion getting the best of me. I enlarge my beaded bag again and pull out a Dreamless Draught vial downing it and heading under the covers. 

What is going on? 

You’ll know soon enough little viper.

Chapter Text

"Something about you made me feel a little more alive and far less lost." 

 

“HERMIONE!” 

Draco’s voice fills my ears amidst the ringing in my head. 

“HERMIONE!” he snarls again. 

I turn towards where the sound is coming but am only met with darkness. 

Dangerous. 

Heedy. 

Eternal. 

Darkness. 

“Draco!” I shout cupping my hands around my mouth. “Draco where are you?” 

Silence answers me back and panic sinks its claws into me. 

No. No. NO. Nonononononono. 

‘DRACO!!” I yell again louder. Please someone, anyone please take me out of this. Please. 

I cannot stay in this abyss much longer. Help me, someone. Please take me out of this void. 

Please. 

Please. 

PLEASE. 

Anyone. 

It’s okay little viper. I will come and save you. 

And then you will forever be safe from the world. 

No one will be able to take you. 

You will be mine. 

Tangled into my soul. 

And I into yours. 

Just a little longer my dear. 

And then the binds of restraint will shatter. 

And you will be mine. 

For eternal. 

My eyes snap open and I am met with the yellow-stained ceiling of the motel where I am staying. I rub my eyes and rise from the cot, not ready to face the day’s activities that are to come and deal with the previous one’s consequences just yet. 

I look at the letter lying on the table and can’t help but wonder what it contains inside. I know I shouldn’t but would it kill anyone if I checked what’s inside? After having an internal debate with myself, my curiosity gets the best of me and I allow it to win. 

After ordering breakfast, from a grouchy service lady I unclip my beaded bag, pull out the stone, and then grab the letter I had gotten from the elderly lady yesterday. Might as well get into it immediately before guilt wakes up, I think with a sigh. 

I set the stone on the small table in my room and then take the letter into my hands. It has a yellowish-white hue to the edges and is adorned with a deep crimson seal. The seal, imprinted with an intricate rose insignia, radiates elegance and tradition. The wax seal, embossed with the delicate details of a blooming rose, adds a touch of mystery and significance, inviting curiosity about the message it protects. I open the letter and pull out a piece of parchment and a ring. The ring nestled in the palm of my hand, a delicate circle of silver adorned with a glistening sapphire at its center. The gemstone sparkled in the light, casting a mesmerizing blue hue that seemed to dance across its surface. The band of the ring was intricately crafted, with ornate patterns etched into the silver, adding an air of elegance and sophistication to the piece. As I turned the ring between my fingers, I couldn't help but marvel at its timeless beauty and the sense of history it seemed to hold within its shining depths . Must be the woman’s ring, she may have put it in so her family knew it was from her, I think as I turn the ring around in my hands before putting it down and grabbing the parchment. The parchment bears faint creases, evidence of its careful folding and unfolding over time, the surface carrying the faint scent of old paper and ink. I open up the paper carefully and then start reading its contents. 

Dearest Mason and Sophia

I hope this letter finds you well. I have struggled with how to begin this, knowing the weight it carries and the pain it may cause you. Please understand that every word comes from a place of love and necessity. It has been far too long since we last spoke, and there are things that I need to share with you—things that have weighed heavily on my heart for the past twenty years.

Twenty years ago, my life took an unexpected turn. I found myself pregnant, facing a reality I wasn't prepared for. In my fear and confusion, I made a decision that haunts me to this day. I left our country without a word, without explaining myself to you or anyone else. I disappeared, and for that, I am deeply sorry.

 I chose to leave our country quietly, seeking solace and the space to make the right choices for myself and my child in Canada. The journey has been fraught with challenges, both emotional and practical, but I am finding my way.

I needed time to process everything, to prepare for motherhood in my own way. Please believe me when I say that leaving without telling you was not an easy choice. I agonized over it, knowing how close we had always been. But amid confusion and fear, I felt it was the only way to protect both myself and our family from the scrutiny and judgment that would inevitably follow.

The years that followed were filled with hardship and sorrow. My daughter, whom I had hoped to bring into this world and share with our family one day, did not survive the birth. The loss was devastating, and in my grief, I felt I couldn't face anyone, couldn't face you. I retreated further into solitude, unable to find the courage to reach out and explain. 

I have carried this burden for so long, wishing I could turn back time and make different choices. But I cannot change the past. What I can do now is ask for your forgiveness. I understand if my absence has left a void that can never be fully filled. Please know that I have missed you every day and that not a moment has passed when I didn't think of you and our family.

If you are willing to hear me out, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I would be forever grateful. I long to reconnect with you, to share our memories, and to build new ones together. Whatever your decision, please know that I will always love you, and I will carry the lessons of my mistakes with me for the rest of my life.

With all my love and deepest regrets,

Ophelia Goldswell. 

I reread the letter three times before I put it back on the table. Ophelia Goldswell. That was the lady’s name. Such a pretty name for someone who died such a horrible death. I pick up the envelope and find the address on the front of it: 242 Cobham, England. 

I drop the envelope when a knock sounds on the door. I pause my examinations and retrieve my breakfast from the lady. 

Taking a deep breath I did what I did best. Put things in order. 

I began to plot. 

After breakfast, I made my way to a nearby library that the motel owner Margaret had pointed towards with a smile. 

It didn’t seem to be a very visited place. The small library in Diagon Alley is nestled between two magical shops, its inviting windows adorned with intricate book displays and flickering candles. The library's exterior is made of old, weathered stone, with creeping vines snaking their way up the walls. A quaint wooden sign hangs above the entrance, bearing the library's name in elegant, swirling letters.

Upon stepping inside, visitors are greeted by the rich, comforting scent of old books and polished wood. The space is filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, crammed with tomes of all shapes and sizes. The shelves are neatly organized and labeled with faded, hand-painted signs, directing patrons to different sections such as Transfiguration, Potions, History of Magic, and more. The cozy reading area is furnished with plush armchairs and small tables, where witches and wizards can be seen poring over ancient manuscripts or quietly discussing magical theories. Soft, warm lighting from enchanted lanterns bathes the room, casting a golden glow over the worn wooden floors and providing a sense of serenity to those seeking knowledge and adventure within the pages of the books. The ambiance is serene, with the occasional rustling of pages and the distant sound of quills scratching parchment. The librarian, a knowledgeable and friendly witch with spectacles perched on her nose, is bustling about, assisting patrons and ensuring that the library remains a haven for those thirsting for magical knowledge. 

I smile and immediately make my way towards the non-fiction section. Picking up several books I deem helpful in my story I put them around me in a semi-circle on a table I have claimed near a small window. 

I needed a backstory. 

With impeccable detail to make it believable enough that even I believed it. 

I start with learning the current political happenings in Britain and North America both muggle and magical. I then proceed to study more about the Goldswells . The library owns a book called Elite Families of the Wizarding World: Sacred 28 and more that had just recently been published. From what I have learned so far from the book, the Goldswells are a quite rich family in Britain and quite well known around as well, but not part of the Sacred 28 due to them moving to Britain from Scotland a century ago and since then lived in a luscious manor in Cobham,  England. The current members of the family are Mason Philip Goldswell the sole heir to the family (alive), son of Philip Henry Goldswell, and Camilla Eloise Franklin-Goldswell (deceased). His wife Sophia Clara Randolph-Goldswell (alive) and his sister Ophelia Amara Goldswell (whereabouts unknown). After doing some more studying and digging around and indulging in a nice dinner in a small restaurant near the library, by the time I return to the motel it’s past 8 PM. Margaret stops me when I enter asking if I enjoyed the trip to the library. I give her a quick reply and head to my room. 

I take a seat at the table and begin the final stage of my plotting. 

The backstory.

From what I have read from Ophelia’s letter, she has never contacted her brother or sister-in-law in the past twenty years. They never knew why she disappeared or the fact that she had lost her daughter during childbirth. Ophelia was still hesitant to meet her brother so she had decided to write a letter to him instead but probably never had the chance to get it delivered to them— hence her determination to make sure I got it delivered to them—before she died. Guilt finally rams its head into me. I know it's wrong. Very, very wrong. But in order to figure out how to get back I have to find a way to survive now. And with the amount of galleons and other items I have I won’t last very long before someone becomes suspicious. I have to do this. At least until I can come up with a better solution. I push the thoughts into an empty book and let my occlumency walls up and continue. 

Tomorrow when I drop by the Goldswells, they won’t be meeting Hermione Granger. 

They will be meeting their niece that they never knew of: Hermione Goldswell . 

Hermione Jean Goldswell was born on September 19th, 1929 in Canada to Ophelia Goldswell. She was homeschooled and due to her infatuation with her mum’s heritage, she learned to talk in an English accent and studied the Wizarding World of Britain. Her mother spent the twenty years of Hermione’s life living with depression and anxiety, from leaving her family and also having to raise a child all on her own. A couple of months ago it took a great toll on her health and she finally disclosed the reason why she had fled to her daughter and wanted to meet her family before her health issues got the best of her. They planned, and Hermione and Ophelia were set to arrive in London two months prior but Ophelia’s health had other decisions. Ophelia made Hermione promise to meet her family and explain her disappearance in the hopes that Hermione would be accepted into their care. A month after her mother’s death their home caught on fire due to a candle left burning and Hermione had decided right then and there that she would take the scheduled portkey to London. 

Satisfied that I have reviewed and added any details missing. I slump in my chair. The small clock on the wall ticks closer to eleven. The sapphire ring glints in the candlelight sending beams of blue across the parchment. It rests perfectly on my middle finger on my right, snuggly fit as if it were meant for me to wear one day beside my silver band with the permanent concealment charm I had bought a year ago. 

A memory makes its way across my mind before I have the chance to raise my walls. 

I nervously browsed through the crowded wizarding jewelry shop, searching for the perfect concealment charm ring. I had read about them in a dusty old book and was determined to find one. As I flicked through the various rings on display, I couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability that the scar brought out in me. As I sifted through the rings on display, a familiar voice startled me. "Looking for something special, Granger?" 

I turned to see Draco smirking at me from across the counter. I rolled my eyes but couldn't hide my grateful smile. "I'm looking for a concealment charm ring. I need it to mask my scar. Do you know anything about them?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Draco's smirk softened into a half-smile. "I might know a thing or two. Come on, I'll help you find the right one." 

Together, they sifted through the store's collection, discussing the intricate enchantments and subtle differences in design and exchanging thoughts on the enchantments and designs of various rings. Draco's expertise surprised me, and I found myself enjoying the unexpected teamwork. I had been struggling to find the right one, and Draco could sense my frustration. "Why don't you try this one, Granger?" Draco suggested picking up a delicate silver band with an intricate pattern etched onto its surface. 

I examined the ring closely, my eyes lighting up with excitement. "You think this will work?"

 Draco nodded. "Absolutely. It's one of the best concealment charm rings in the store.” 

 It was not only beautiful but also perfect for my purpose.

As I marveled at the ring, Draco hesitated before speaking. "I should have never called you that name, Hermione. I'm truly sorry for the pain I inflicted on you and others during our time at Hogwarts." 

I looked at him, surprised by his candid apology and his use of my given name. "Thank you, Draco. I appreciate that. I hope you know I forgave you the moment you apologized to me earlier. And thanks for your help, I never would've found this without you," I said, my voice softening, a hint of warmth in my tone. 

Draco shrugged, trying to play it cool. "It's nothing, really. Just making sure you don't accidentally reveal any top-secret Gryffindor plans," he teased, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. 

I rolled my eyes again but couldn't hide my fond smile. As they left the shop together, I realized that the lingering scars of the past could sometimes be masked, not just by enchantments, but also by unexpected kindness and understanding, and that unexpected alliances and helpful gestures could come from the most unlikely places, even from someone like Draco Malfoy.

Unbidden tears break free from my eyes and slip down. I never really gave myself a chance to think about what Draco, what all my friends might be doing right now after my sudden disappearance. Did Draco go to the authorities? Did Theo throw a fit like a petulant child like usually does? Did Ginny kick Draco’s ass in anger and disappointment? A watery laugh that sounds more like a strangled sob escapes my throat. God, I need Theo’s kindness right now. Or Ginny’s pep talk. Blaise’s gossip. Pansy and Daphne’s lectures on makeup and fashion. Neville’s stories about the students he teaches. Hell, I’d even take Draco’s snarky comments right now. 

Another sob makes its way and before I can even register it, my whole body is shaking as I cry quietly mourning the absence of my friends, my family . 

I allow myself to give a pity party or a few more minutes before I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and build my library of memories behind my walls. When I’m sure I won’t collapse again I open them slowly. My attention gets snagged on the small “G” tattoo on my wrist. The letter was intricately woven into a beautiful design, and whenever light caught it, the tattoo seemed to shimmer with a faint, ethereal glow. When candlelight touched the tattoo, it seemed to sparkle as if it held a bit of magic within it. Maybe it did. Despite its size, the tattoo held an unmistakable air of enchantment, hinting at mysteries and secrets unknown to me. 

I sigh and stand up from the table making my way across towards my bed. I go over the details once more before a restless sleep claims me whole. 

Tonight I will go to sleep as Hermione Granger. 

Tomorrow I will wake up as Hermione Goldswell. 

Chapter Text

"You are my sun. My moon 

and all of my stars." 

- E. E Cummings

My eyes fly open on their own accord and I rise from the bed ready to get on with the day’s events. 

A mental list plays in my head the whole time. 

• Wake up, have breakfast, and go to Diagon Alley for last-minute prep. 

• Check out from the motel. (P.S. Say bye to Margaret). 

• (THE MAJOR EVENT) Visit the Goldswells in Cobham. 

After getting ready and putting on some light blue colored robes I find in my beaded bag, and giving a final scan of the room to ensure I didn’t forget anything, I head down and check out from the motel. 

Walking in Diagon Alley I drop by an ice cream parlor because god-dammit if there was time to indulge in any small pleasantries it was now before everything went into flames. Which I have no doubt it will. Soon. Very soon. 

I make my way toward the library again and the face of the librarian—Mrs Howard—smiles at me through her spectacles. “Back again deary?” 

I smile at her, “Yes, just getting some last-minute things studied.” 

“Must be something big you’re doing if the number of books at your table yesterday was any indication. 

I chuckle before nodding and making my way towards the non-fiction section again. If only you knew what I was doing. I allow the sly smile on my face as I browse through the tomes and books. It’s Saturday so the crowd in the library is a little bigger than yesterday but still small enough that it isn’t overly crowded. I grab a few books that I think I might need and make my way towards the table near the window alcove, which has a bit more privacy than the others. I pick up an issue of the Daily Prophet on the way, but stop when I see that someone has already occupied the table. 

He’s facing toward the window making it impossible to see his face, but has jet-black hair with a slight curl to it from what I can see.  His tall, broad-shouldered frame was slightly hunched over a book, several others lying around the table. I squint my eyes trying to decipher the name on some of the books, but it seems they have blurring spells on them. I narrow my eyes in suspicion debating to ask if I can sit with him but as quick as the thought comes it perishes too. I have books that can cause suspicion as well . But I still can’t help but stare at the man in suspicion and curiosity. I turn around and make my way towards a different table just as the man starts to turn his head as if he could sense my stare. 

I find a different table on the second level of the library and go over any details left unknown. 

When I’m sure I have everything covered I stop by a small cafe and get some lunch going over my backstory. The sapphire ring of Ophelia’s and my silver concealment band shimmer in the afternoon light. I order some dessert as well. I know I’m slacking but my nerves are making it impossible for me to focus on the task at hand. 

Finally, after spending another hour slacking and doing nothing but feeding my nerves at four, I decide to apparate to the Goldswells manor in Cobham. 

In Cobham, England, nestled within the serene countryside, amidst sprawling emerald lawns, stunning gardens, and ancient oaks, stands Goldswell Manor. 

This stately residence is the epitome of elegance and opulence, a testament to the wealth and prominence of the esteemed Goldswell family. The manor exudes timeless elegance with its ivy-covered walls of honey-colored stone and a harmonious blend of Tudor and Jacobean architecture, each window adorned with intricate leaded glass that catches the light in a thousand prisms. 

The gardens of Goldswell Manor are a marvel in themselves, meticulously landscaped with manicured hedges, labyrinthine paths, and exotic flora that bloom year-round. A shimmering lake beckons beyond the meticulously trimmed hedge maze, where enchanted swans glide gracefully over water that mirrors the sky like a flawless sapphire. The stables house winged horses and unicorns that roam freely under protective spells, their coats gleaming in the sunlight. 

Upon entering through the ornate iron gates—which fling open upon my arrival—, visitors are greeted by a sweeping gravel driveway that winds through meticulously landscaped gardens bursting with vibrant blooms year-round, courtesy of the family's natural magic. The scent of roses and lavender dances in the air, mingling with the faint, sweet fragrance of elderflower. 

The grand entrance is adorned with a portico supported by marble columns. I step onto the honey-colored stone stairs and knock on the large, expensive African blackwood doors with intricate details and in the center the same rose insignia as the one I had found on the letter. After a few minutes, a petite house elf with large, bat-like ears and bright, expressive hazel eyes that convey its boundless curiosity opens the door. Its small frame is clad in a colorfully mismatched assortment of cloths and fabrics that seem to be sewn together carefully. 

“Hello, my name is Hermione, I was hoping to see Mr. and Mrs. Goldswell,” I ask politely, smiling down at the elf. 

It looks me up and down with a bit of skepticism but opens the door wider, “My name is Tilly, I will let Master and Mistress know you is here to see them. Does Miss have an appointment with Master or Mistress?” The elf asks, stepping back, allowing me to step inside the house.

“Oh uh no I do not, I didn’t know that I needed an appointment to come here, I’m sorry.” I flash the elf an apologetic smile as I take in the inside of the manor. 

Inside Goldswell Manor, the interior is a seamless blend of old-world charm and magical craftsmanship. The grand foyer boasts a soaring ceiling with an enchanted chandelier that glimmers with softly pulsating light, casting gentle hues of blue and gold upon the polished marble floors, adorned with suits of armor and tapestries depicting scenes of mythical creatures and magical landscapes. The threads of the antique tapestries that depict scenes of mythical creatures, seemingly come to life under the soft glow of the ever-burning hearth fire. 

The elf finally gives me a small smile, “That is alright Miss, let me bring you to the parlor.” 

The main hall features a soaring vaulted ceiling embellished with ornate chandeliers that cast a soft, warm glow over the polished marble floors. Antique furniture upholstered in rich velvet lines the walls, complemented by exquisite Persian rugs and gilded mirrors that reflect the flickering flames of the marble fireplace. The elf walks me towards a room with double doors in the same expensive African blackwood. 

The luxurious parlor in Goldswell Manor invites guests into a world of opulence and refinement. The grand room is adorned with ornate gold leaf detailing that shimmers in the soft light cast by crystal chandeliers. Plush velvet sofas and armchairs, upholstered in regal tones of deep emerald and royal purple, offer sumptuous seating to those who enter. Richly patterned Persian rugs with intricate designs span the polished oak floor, adding warmth and old-world charm to the space.

Elaborate tapestries depicting scenes of magical prowess and historical events line the walls, their threads capturing the grandeur of bygone eras. The parlor's focal point is a magnificent fireplace of white marble, where crackling flames cast a golden glow over the room, creating an atmosphere of cozy elegance. Display cabinets with gilded frames showcase rare and exquisite magical artifacts, each with a story steeped in untold enchantment. Antique crystal decanters filled with the finest elixirs stand atop mahogany side tables, glistening in the ambient light and tempting those seeking a refined libation. A grand piano, its polished ebony surface a striking contrast to the room's opulent decor, stands poised for impromptu performances or gentle background melodies. Its melodious notes mingle with the soft rustle of silk curtains, adding a touch of musical enchantment to the already captivating ambiance. In the corners of the parlor, towering potted plants overflow with vibrant blooms and verdant foliage, creating a sense of natural splendor within the lavish interior. Tantalizing scents from ornate censers filled with exotic incense waft through the air, further elevating the sensory experience and lending an air of mystique to the atmosphere.

This luxurious parlor in Goldswell Manor stands as a testament to the impeccable taste and timeless elegance of the Goldswell family, offering a captivating retreat where guests can revel in the lap of luxury while surrounded by the legacy of wizarding tradition.

I seat myself on a plush velvet sofa in deep purple before an exquisite magical artifact in a glass display catches my attention. I make my way towards the shelf and stop to admire it. The amulet is delicately encased in a filigree of enchanted silver, adorned with intricate celestial motifs, and set with a radiant opal at its center. The opal shimmers with a mesmerizing play of colors, reflecting the ever-changing dance of the stars and planets.

“It’s called the "Celestial Resonance Amulet." A deep voice says. 

I snap my head to where a man with bushy brown hair, kind deep brown eyes, and an aura that says, he possesses knowledge and elegance, dressed in formal navy blue dress robes, stands near the threshold of the parlor smiling kindly at me. From what I had studied, Mason Goldswell is a wealthy and esteemed male wizard known for his adept mastery of enchantments and ancient spells. Mason is revered in the magical community for his exceptional expertise in crafting powerful magical artifacts and unraveling complex enchantments. As a guardian of ancient knowledge, he is often sought after for his wisdom and mentorship in the arcane arts. Despite his lavish lifestyle, Mason remains grounded and is known for his philanthropy and support of magical education and preservation. The man in front of me seems to check all those boxes.

“It’s lovely,” I say, turning back towards the amulet as Mason crosses the threshold and makes his way closer to me. 

“This amulet is crafted from a rare, iridescent crystal found only in the deepest chambers of the earth. The crystal is known for its natural ability to capture and amplify ethereal energies from the cosmos. It is said that when worn, the Celestial Resonance Amulet is said to attune the wearer to the harmonious vibrations of the universe, bestowing them with heightened intuition, clarity of mind, and a deep connection to the cosmic energies,” Mason waves a hand towards the display and it opens. Picking up the artifact he hands it to me carefully, “It is believed that the amulet has the power to enhance magical abilities and facilitate communication with celestial beings. Furthermore, the amulet is said to emit a soft, ethereal glow when in the presence of powerful magical forces, serving as a beacon of guidance and protection for the wearer. The creation of each Celestial Resonance Amulet is a labor of love and magic, requiring the expertise of skilled artisans and enchanters who infuse the crystal with celestial energies and inscribe ancient runes of wisdom and protection onto its surface. Owning such a rare and wondrous artifact is not only a symbol of great prestige but also a profound connection to the mystical forces that shape the very fabric of the universe.” Mason finishes with a proud smile on his face. 

We stand there for a moment admiring the amulet in my hand when another voice interrupts us, “Mason, dear I told you to stop boring our guests by becoming an encyclopedia on your artifacts.” An amused voice makes both of our heads turn, just as a woman enters the parlor smiling, her flowy grey gown with sparkling gems, the shape of snowflakes billowing behind her. 

Tall and regal, Sophia Randolph-Goldswell possesses a timeless beauty that hints at the magical heritage woven into her family's lineage. Her chestnut hair cascades in soft waves, framing her features with an effortless grace. Her piercing hazel eyes hold a depth of knowledge and wisdom, reflecting the secrets and mysteries of ages past. Sophia is a woman of grace and poise, befitting her esteemed lineage. With an air of quiet confidence, Sophia carries herself with an elegant charm that captivates all who have the pleasure of her company. She is often adorned in attire that echoes the refined luxury of her surroundings, choosing flowing gowns of rich, jewel-toned fabrics that drape around her in effortless sophistication. A delicate necklace passed down through generations, rests gently against her collarbone, whispering tales of old and noble ancestry. With a keen intellect and a passion for the arcane arts, Sophia is a respected keeper of ancient knowledge and mystical traditions within the Goldswell family. Her gentle yet commanding presence evokes a sense of reverence, and her unwavering dedication to preserving the magical heritage of her lineage is a testament to her steadfast commitment to honor the old ways. It was said that throughout the halls of Goldswell Manor, Sophia's presence is an embodiment of grace and wisdom, a luminous figure that bridges the past with the present, and the ordinary with the extraordinary. Seems like they weren’t far off. 

Sophia passes her husband a wink before turning to me, “Hello dear, I am Sophia Goldswell, and that is my husband Mason Goldswell, who I am sure didn’t bother introducing himself before plunging right into the history of that amulet,” she tosses her husband a look before looking down at the amulet, “Though I can’t say I blame him, it’s a magnificent artifact this one.” 

I huff a laugh and hand the amulet back to Mason, who places it back. “I’m Hermione, so sorry to just barge into your home, I wasn’t aware that an appointment was needed.” I extend my hand, but Sophia smiles at me kindly before embracing me in her arms as if we have known each other for years. 

“Oh nonsense,” she says squeezing me tightly once before stepping back, “It’s quite alright dear, we usually don’t get many guests and it’s always a pleasure to have someone show up. Please take a seat.” Sophia gestures towards the sofas. I smile at her words and we make our way to the sofas. 

Once we are all seated Sophia calls for Tilly who arrives immediately, “Tilly dear, could you please get us some tea and snacks, thank you.” The elf smiles widely at their Mistress and bows so low its large bat-like ears touch the floor. “Of course, Mistress, Tilly will be right back!” With that, the elf disappears with a crack. Sophia smiles at the place where the elf had just been for a moment before turning to me. 

Mason speaks first, “So tell us Miss what brings you to Goldswell Manor?” 

I open my mouth just to close it again, hesitation slowly creeping forward. “I uh, I’m not even sure where to start.” I begin. 

Mason just chuckles, while Sophia smiles at me, her forehead creasing slightly. “Well I would hope for you to start at the beginning,” Mason says, shaking his head slightly, a small smile playing on his face. Tilly apparates again and sets the tea, and delicacies on the table. Sophia thanks her and the elf disapparates with a resounding crack. 

Okay Hermione, no more being a coward, just say what you have planned. “I—I’m Ophelia Goldswell’s daughter,” I blurt out. 

The smiles from the Goldswells drop instantly. 

“You—you’re. You’re Phelia’s daughter ?!” Mason says incredulously. “No that—that can’t be possible. Phelia has a daughter ?! Since when?” Mason shakes his head furiously looking down, his brows furrowed, as if trying to decipher a puzzle. His head snaps up and he looks at me with narrowed eyes, “You’re lying. You have to be lying!” 

My voice is small when I say, “I’m not,” and lift my right hand and show them the sapphire ring on my middle finger. Mason’s eyes widen, his mouth parting in shock, as resignation floats across his face. Sophia however has a cool mask of stoicism placed on her face, as she stares at the ring with pursed lips. 

Taking a deep breath and making sure my walls are up, just in case, I start telling the couple my recited backstory. I watch as Mason’s face goes from pained, to absolutely devastated. By the time I’m done Mason’s face has a pained expression on it, as if he is in deep agony, his eyes red and puffy as tears stream down his cheeks. Sophia's stoic mask faltered many times as I spoke, with silent tears escaping her eyes, but she still looks a bit more collected than her husband. 

Tears have also escaped my eyes, slowly running down and falling off my chin. Well the “With impeccable detail to make it believable enough that even I believed it” is clearly a success. 

A few moments of heavy silence hangs in the air before Sophia breaks it. “I knew.” 

The two words are spoken so softly that for a moment I think I imagined them. 

Mason and my head snap towards where the brunette woman sits with her eyes tightly closed and more tears escape, barreling down her beautiful face. 

“I knew about Ophelia’s secret pregnancy.” Sophia’s mask slips off completely as a sob escapes from her, eyes still squeezed tightly. Mason and my horrified expressions are mirrored as we stare at the Goldswell matriarch. Mason is probably horrified about the fact that his wife hid something from him and I am horrified about the fact that maybe Ophelia had told someone about her pregnancy and Sophia knows that Ophelia’s daughter had died during birth. 

“What?” Mason’s voice is quiet, deathly quiet as he drills his gaze into his wife. 

Sophia slowly opens her eyes and turns towards him, “I assumed Sophia was pregnant, but before I could confirm this with her, she had run away from home.” Sophia finally turns towards me, a sad smile on her face, “I guess my assumptions were correct.” 

After a pregnant pause, Mason stands up and walks towards me, grabbing my hands, “I’m so sorry I said you were lying sweetheart. The signs were right there and I refused to look at them. You look so much like her. The same bushy brown hair and amber eyes,” Mason smiles at me before pulling me into a tight embrace. “You are my sister’s daughter. You are a Goldswell. You, my dear, are family .” A fresh wave of tears escapes my eyes as I clutch onto Mason tightly. Family. I may finally have another chance to have a family. Even if it’s temporary. 

Mason lets me go, and Sophia pulls me in, “He’s right, you’re family Hermione.” She pulls back enough to look at me. “You’re right Mason, she does look a lot like Phelia doesn’t she? The hair is the biggest giveaway, don't you think?” Sophia turns to Mason and then back to me as a watery laugh leaves my throat. “Ophelia wanted you to find us not only to explain her leaving but also for you to find your family. From now on you will be staying here, at the Manor and I will accept zero excuses,” Sophia’s expression is stern but quickly morphs into one of fondness. 

I let out a small chuckle, and smile at the woman before me, “No Auntie,”—Sophia’s face brightens at the term— “No excuses. I will gladly stay here with you and Uncle Mason.” I smile towards the man who is beaming at me. 

“Well then, this calls for a celebration does it not? Tilly!” Mason hollers. 

The elf appears beside him in a heartbeat, “Yes Master Mason?” 

Mason smiles at Sophia and me before turning to the elf, “Tilly dear, could you ring up the best dinner the cooks have ever made for me, Soph, and our niece Hermione, please?” 

The elf’s eyes widen even more and it snaps its head to me, “Niece?!” Then as if it remembers itself, “Tilly means, Tilly is very happy for all. Tilly will do her best to serve you, Miss.” The elf bowed again before disappearing and we all let humorous laughs. 

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. 

“Now enough with all this emotional stuff, come Hermione let me show you around the manor while we wait for dinner to be ready,” Sophia says, letting me go and clasping her hands together in excitement. 

Sophia took hold of my hand and led me out of the parlor. “Let’s start with the first floor then we’ll move up to the second and third, alright? Let’s start with the formal dining room, then we’ll continue from there.” 

The formal dining room in the manor is a sight to behold. As I enter through the grand oak doors, I am greeted by an opulent space adorned with rich, deep hues and glistening chandeliers that cast a warm, ambient glow. The long, polished mahogany table is the centerpiece of the room, exquisitely set with fine china, crystal glassware, and silver cutlery, reflecting the light that dances off the enchanting fixtures. Plush, high-backed chairs upholstered in luxurious velvet line the table, each with meticulous embroidery of intricate magical symbols woven into the fabric. The room is adorned with ornate tapestries depicting scenes of ancient spells and mythical creatures, adding an air of mystique to the atmosphere. Elaborate candelabras stand tall at intervals along the table, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls adorned with portraits of esteemed witches and wizards from generations past. Above the table, an intricately designed magical chandelier hovers, its shimmering crystals refracting and scattering the light throughout the room. As I marvel at the room I think that whenever guests gather in this elegant space, they are enveloped in an aura of refined luxury and magical grandeur, where every detail exudes the heritage and sophistication of the manor. This formal dining room is truly a celebration of centuries of magical legacy and unwavering elegance. 

Next, we move onto the kitchens, where Tilly and four other house elves work together animatedly. The kitchen at Goldswell Manor is a bustling hive of activity as the five house elves work tirelessly to prepare dinner. Each elf with their unique appearance and personality, moves about the kitchen with purpose and skill and is in charge of a specific aspect of the meal, their movements choreographed with precision and grace that comes from years of practice. As I step inside, I am enveloped in a warm, inviting glow that emanates from the enchanted hearth at the center of the room. Upon our arrival, the elves stop their work and turn to face Sophia and me. 

“Hermione dear, let me introduce you to our elves,” Sophia says. “You have already met Tilly who helps wherever and whenever help is needed,—Sophia gestures towards the petite elf beaming at us then moves her hand towards another elf— “Let me introduce you to Bristle. Our oldest and longest house elf. She’s in charge of maintaining the house and making sure everything goes smoothly, and the elves as well.”  a plump and jovial house elf, with large, bat-like ears that protrude from under a tangle of wiry hair and blue eyes bows at me quickly before turning to Tilly and telling her to continue with her work. I smile at Bristle, she reminds me of Theo for some reason, with her assertive yet kind tone. Tilly quickly rushes back to the preparation of the vegetables, her nimble fingers expertly peeling and chopping with remarkable speed. Meanwhile, Bristle returns to tending to the roasting meats in the massive hearth, basting them with savory sauces and seasonings. 

Next, I’m introduced to the two kitchen elves, Floretta and Pip, two nimble house elves with mischievous glints in their eyes, who work in tandem to mix and knead the dough for the evening's freshly baked bread. Their laughter fills the air as they playfully compete to see who can shape the most perfectly formed loaves. Lastly, I’m introduced to the elf across the room, Crispin, a wise and elderly house-elf, who is currently supervising the simmering pots of rich, aromatic sauces, infusing them with a touch of magic to enhance their flavors. 

“Crispin helps outside or works alongside Mason sometimes. They’re both bloody brilliant at working in tandem and solving the complex artifacts and other things that Mason inspects,” Sophia says proudly patting the elf’s head. 

“How come they are all working together now, even though they are assigned different things?” I ask curiously. 

“The elves have their own schedule apparently, after 6 PM they all head into the kitchen to work together to create dinner, I think they do it to gather around and spend some time together, and also because Crispin knows that if he doesn’t start blaring the “Dinner is about to be served Master” alarm to Mason, my husband would never show up to dinner on time.” 

We all start laughing as Crispin says seriously, “But it is true Mistress, Master would never get out of his study, if Crispin is not there to tell him.” 

The kitchen hums with the clatter of pots and pans, the swish of knives through the air, and the lively chatter of the house elves as they work in seamless harmony. Despite the controlled chaos, there is an undeniable sense of joy and camaraderie in the air, as the delicious scents of the meal-to-come waft through the room, promising an evening of enchanting culinary delights at Goldswell Manor. 

We move on to the family living room and the smaller dining room for family only which are located on the west side of the manor alongside the library, starting with the family living room. The family living room in our magical world is a place of warmth and comfort, where ancient enchantments and modern conveniences harmoniously coexist. Entering the room, I am greeted by the flickering light of a grand fireplace, its green flames dancing with a mesmerizing, colorful glow.  The hearth is adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes from wizarding folklore, the magnificent hearth serves as a Floo Place, allowing family members to travel to other fireplaces connected to the Floo Network in various magical dwellings. The carved inscription above the fireplace reads, "Connected to the Magical Realms Near and Far." 

Plush, oversized sofas and armchairs are strategically arranged, inviting family members to gather and share stories of their magical adventures. The upholstery is adorned with subtle spells that provide a gentle massage to anyone who sinks into the cushions, soothing tired muscles and promoting relaxation. Intricately woven rugs cover the polished wooden floor, adding a touch of elegance and comfort to the space. A gilded cauldron, brimming with a perpetually simmering potion that emits a soothing aroma, rests atop a low,  specially crafted oak table. The table is etched with protective runes to ensure the family's conversations remain private and secure from outside influences. Soft, ambient lighting fills the room, emanating from enchanted lanterns that hover above, casting a gentle, warm glow throughout the space. A majestic chandelier, crafted from crystal and adorned with glowing runes, hangs from the center of the ceiling, bathing the room in a radiant, magical light.

Some of the walls are adorned with tapestries depicting pivotal moments in the family's magical history, and intricate runes and sigils are subtly woven into the fabric, imbuing the room with an additional layer of protective magic. Some have shelves lined with ancient tomes and spellbooks adorn one corner of the room, providing a rich resource for the family to delve into the mysteries of magic and ancient lore. As a finishing touch, an enchanted portrait of the family's ancestors hangs above the mantelpiece, their eyes twinkling with warmth and wisdom as if watching over and protecting the living room and all who gather within its walls.

As family members gather in this enchanting space, they are surrounded by an atmosphere of love, camaraderie, and the comforting presence of generations of magical heritage. It's a room where laughter fills the air, where magic comes alive, and where the bonds of family are strengthened by the wonders of the mystical world they call home.  

The private dining room for family only is also no less elegant. Stepping through the intricately carved oak doors, the room opens up into a space adorned with deep burgundy walls and golden accents that cast a rich, inviting glow. A long,— though smaller than the one in the dining room for guests— grand table crafted from enchanted wood takes center stage, flanked by high-backed chairs upholstered in sumptuous velvet of a deep sapphire hue. The table itself is a masterpiece, etched with delicate runes and protective enchantments that ensure all who gather around it are safe and at ease. Elaborate candelabras hover above, emitting a soft, enchanting light that bathes the room in a warm, flickering glow. The air is filled with the tantalizing aroma of magical delicacies, conjured and prepared with the utmost care by skilled house elves. At one end of the room, a majestic fireplace crackles with magical flames, its mantle adorned with family heirlooms and cherished artifacts that resonate with generations of magical history. As family members gather around the table, the room pulsates with the hum of ancient spells and enchantments, creating an atmosphere of comfort and security. The conversations flow freely, accompanied by the soft melodies of enchanted instruments that play in the background, filling the air with a sense of harmony and togetherness. The magical dining room is a place where bonds are strengthened, stories are shared, and love and laughter abound, embodying the essence of family in the most extraordinary of ways. 

Sophia calls Bristle and bends to the elf’s height to whisper something in her ear unbeknownst to me.  

Then, we move to my favorite place in this whole house: The Library. 

The luxurious library is nestled within the heart of a grand manor, adorned with high vaulted ceilings and towering bookshelves crafted from rich, mahogany wood. Sunlight streams in through stained glass windows, casting a warm glow upon the rows of ancient tomes and spellbooks that line the shelves. Plush velvet armchairs and chaise lounges are strategically placed in cozy nooks, inviting readers to lose themselves in the pages of magical lore. A comfortable reading nook beckons by the window, where a spellbound cat named Artemis curls up on a velvet cushion, keeping watch over the enchantments woven into the very fabric of the manor.

Antique globes and ornate candelabras adorn the spacious room, adding a touch of old-world elegance to the surroundings. The air is scented with the subtle fragrance of leather-bound books and aged parchment, creating an atmosphere of learned leisure.

A majestic fireplace crackles with warmth, its marble mantle lined with mystical artifacts, precious curios from distant lands, and a bag full of floo powder. Soft, ambient lighting bathes the library in a golden sheen, illuminating the intricate detailing of the hand-carved bookcases and the delicate features of the mythical creatures depicted in the paintings that adorn the walls.

In one corner, a grand oak desk serves as the focal point of the room, adorned with quills, inkwells, and parchment, where wizards and witches can indulge in scholarly pursuits and transcribe their own enchantments.

The library is a sanctuary of knowledge, where the scent of ancient wisdom fills the air, and the weight of countless tales and magical secrets weaves a timeless tapestry of wonder and discovery with its treasure trove of knowledge and mystique. 

Lastly, we make our way towards the ballroom that is between the formal living room and the dining room for guests on the east side of the manor. 

The grand ballroom in Goldswell Manor is a breathtaking display of opulence and enchantment. Adorned with intricate golden filigree and adorned with sparkling crystals that shimmer like stars, the high vaulted ceiling creates a sense of endless space. The walls are draped in luxurious fabrics that change color with the shifting light, casting a warm and ethereal glow throughout the room. Large windows, framed by lavish curtains, offer a captivating view of the moonlit gardens and the shimmering lake beyond, creating an atmosphere of timeless elegance. A magnificent chandelier, suspended from the ceiling, illuminates the ballroom with a soft, radiant light, casting a gentle glow over the polished marble floors. The air is filled with the lilting strains of enchanting music, weaving a spell of elegance and grace. Elaborate floral arrangements, conjured from exotic blooms and enchanted vines, lend a fragrance of magic and beauty to the air.

“Wonderful, it seems we still have time to do a quick tour of the second floor before dinner and I can show you your room, which I hope Bristle is done arranging,” Sophia says. 

“Me too, all this walking around is getting me hungry. That’s what you whispered in the elf’s ears,” I say with a laugh. 

Sophia just grins at me sheepishly. 

The stairwell in Goldswell Manor is a masterpiece of magical architecture, befitting the grandeur of the estate. As we ascend the marble steps, the ornate balustrade comes alive with intricate carvings of mythical creatures and twisting vines, all subtly enchanted to animate and intertwine as people pass by. Soft, ethereal lighting emanates from enchanted sconces, casting a warm glow that dances along the walls, illuminating priceless tapestries and portraits of generations past. The steps themselves seem to shimmer with a faint iridescence, hinting at the enchantments woven into the very fabric of the manor. Each footfall resonates with a melodic hum, as if the stairs themselves are singing a centuries-old song of grace and elegance. As we reach the landing, the open expanse of the second floor unfolds before me, adorned with elaborate arches and gilded doors leading to chambers of wonder and enchantment. The air is infused with the subtle fragrance of ancient spells and the comforting warmth of hearth and home, welcoming me to explore the timeless mysteries that await within the storied halls of Goldswell Manor.

Upstairs, the bedrooms are havens of tranquility and magic. Each room reflects the unique personality of its inhabitants, with four-poster beds draped in silk and comforters embroidered with subtle spells for peaceful dreams. En-suite bathrooms feature marble baths that fill with water at the perfect temperature with a mere wave of a hand. 

We reach a room and Sophia pauses, practically giddy with excitement. “Okay, I am aware that we have just met and maybe it isn’t to your liking but from what I could gather I think you will like the room.” 

“Sophia, Auntie, I am sure that my room will be perfect. You have already bestowed so much kindness upon me,” I say with a reassuring smile. 

Sophia gives me a small pout, “Still you promise to tell me if anything isn’t to your liking?” 

I press my lips together to hold in the laughter bubbling and nod. Sophia smiles and then flings open the doors. 

My room in Goldswell Manor is a spacious and elegant sanctuary that reflects my refined taste and appreciation for comfort. The room features a large four-poster bed with intricately carved wooden details and luxurious drapes in rich shades of burgundy and gold. The bedding is adorned with exquisite embroidered patterns and lined with sumptuously soft fabric.

Gilded wall sconces cast a warm and inviting glow across the room, adding to the opulent ambiance. A vintage writing desk sits near the doors leading to the balcony, offering a serene space for me to reflect and jot down my thoughts. A graceful balcony adorned with trailing ivy and enchanted lanterns overlooks the breathtaking gardens and the simmering lake. It's a serene spot where I often hope to retreat to immerse myself in my studies or simply enjoy the tranquil beauty of the magical world outside.

Adorning one wall is a towering bookshelf, brimming with ancient tomes, spellbooks, leather-bound books, and scrolls that seem to radiate a soft, inviting glow. The books whisper tales of forgotten magic and hidden knowledge, creating an aura of wisdom within the room. A cozy reading nook nestled among the shelves provides a quiet retreat for me to immerse myself in my studies. 

In one corner stands a grand wardrobe crafted from enchanted wood, adorned with intricate carvings that seem to shift and change, telling tales of magical creatures and ancient spells. Within its depths, an array of bewitched garments and robes awaits, each imbued with its own unique charm and flair. 

The rest of the walls are adorned with enchanting tapestries depicting scenes of ancient magic and folklore, adding a sense of wonder and mystique to the room. A crackling fireplace brings warmth and coziness to the room, creating a serene atmosphere for quiet contemplation. The intricate ceiling is adorned with delicate molding and a mesmerizing mural depicting celestial constellations, adding a touch of enchantment to the space.

My en-suite bathroom is an opulent chamber adorned with iridescent tiles that shimmer like precious gems, where the warm glow of enchanted candles illuminates the room. The claw-foot bathtub is a lavish affair, filled with water enchanted to soothe, rejuvenate, and fill itself with the perfect temperature of water, releasing fragrant, rose-scented bubbles that never seem to disperse. The mirrors reflect a shimmering, ethereal light. It's a tranquil space where I can relax after a long day of learning and exploration. 

My room is a reflection of both my scholarly pursuits and my appreciation for the wonders of the wizarding world, a space where wisdom and elegance intertwine seamlessly. It exudes an air of refinement and enchantment, providing me with a luxurious retreat to relax and immerse myself in the magical world around me.

“I—this is amazing Auntie, I can’t believe you and Bristle managed to do all this in two hours! Thank you, thank you so much for all this!!” I turn towards the woman in front of me who is glowing with happiness. 

“You are most welcome my dear, I’m afraid we’ll have to view the third floor some other day— it’s nothing really but more guest bedrooms and a nursery I think— it’s already 6 PM and dinner is probably ready.” 

“Speaking of nursery Auntie, I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you and Uncle have any kids?” I ask. 

Sophia looks at me sadly, unshed tears lining her eyes, “Me and Mason were never blessed with kids.” She shakes her sadly and smiles at me. “But that's okay because I think you were supposed to be sent to us.” 

I walk up to the brunette and pull her in for a hug. When I let her go, holding her by arm's length I say, “Maybe.”

Sophia huffs a laugh, shakes her head slightly, looks down but freezes when she sees the ‘G” tattoo on my wrist. I follow her line of sight and stare at the tattoo. 

Sophia stares at it for another second before bursting into laughter. “Well any doubts I may have had are definitely gone now,” she says between fits of laughter. 

My brows furrow, not catching on to what she means. “I don’t understand.” 

Sophia looks at me strangely for a second but speaks, “A true Goldswell by blood has that tattoo. Since I’m not a Goldswell by blood and am by marriage I don’t have it. Mason on the other hand does, just like Ophelia would have had one. It’s like a symbol to declare that you are a pure-blooded Goldswell by blood.” 

My eyes widen. The light coming from Ophelia’s stomach wasn’t a curse or anything. It was her blood transferring to me and making me a fucking pure-blooded Goldswell !!! Oh dear god. Oh fuck. Fuck. 

Sophia looks at me with concern but before she can comment on my sudden paleness Crispin appears with a crack beside her. “Dinner is ready Mistress and Miss Hermione.” 

“Thank you Cris, Hermione and I will be right there. Did you inform Mason already?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” 

“Lovely, we’ll be there in a minute.” 

The elf bows before disapparating and Sophia turns towards me, concern etched into her lovely face. “Are you okay dear?” 

I blink and quickly raise my walls, “Yes, yes I’m fine, just tired and hungry.” 

Sophia smiles accepting my lie and takes my arm leading us towards the private dining room. 

I’ll come back to this later. 

After dinner, I say goodbye to my new family and make my way towards my bedroom. Opening my wardrobe, I pull out a black negligee and a matching slip, heading towards the bathroom to change. 

When I walk back into the room Artemis is curled up on my bed staring at me with yellow eyes. 

“Well hello there you,” I put my hair in a high messy bun and scoop up the cat who purrs, snuggling closer to me, heading towards the books adorning my wall to find something to read. God, it’s been a hot minute since I have just been able to fucking breathe in peace. 

I slide open the balcony doors and plop down on one of the chairs, Artemis curls into a ball on my lap as I open a leather-bound book about a magical artifact. At night, the manor is aglow with the soft light of enchanted lanterns that hover along the pathways and illuminate the ancient oaks. Within its walls, the whispers of centuries-old spells and the scent of arcane potions linger, a testament to the magical heritage and enduring legacy of the Goldswell family in Cobham, England. 

Taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent of nature I start devouring the words on the page. Phase one: complete. Tomorrow I’ll move on to phase two of my plan: Figuring out how to get the fuck out of here. But today, just today I am going to enjoy life and relax. 

Surprisingly nothing has gone up in flames. Yet. 

Locations

Chapter Text

"And then there was you—

suddenly and unexpectedly, but right on time." 

- M. M. McNeely

Whoosh.

I leap out of the bed, my wand is in my hands at the ready in a heartbeat. For a moment, just a moment I freeze. Panic creeps into me when I take in the foreign room and foreign sheets before realization comes back and I breathe in relief. Sagging back onto the burgundy sheets I get my heart rate under control. The clock is ticking away towards six in the morning at the top of the fireplace, nagging me on the deadline I have given myself to figure out what exactly that stupid fucking rock means and how long before I can finally get home. 

If I get home. 

I haven’t let myself consider what it may mean if I never was able to get home. I knew that if I dwelled on the fact longer I would panic. 

And panicking meant losing focus. 

Which I could not afford. 

Not until every possible door to getting home shut in my face. Only then, only then would I consider that maybe, maybe I’ll never go back home. 

To my own timeline.

In one where I had Theo and Ginny’s wedding to be in. Where I had Neville’s never-ending stories to hear. Where I had Blaise and Pansy’s gossip to look forward to. Where I had Daphne’s advice to take into consideration. Where I had the chance to tell Draco I wanted something more with him than whatever we had right now.

Where I had everything. 

And now I have nothing. 

Except for the fucking rock.  

With a heavy sigh and my chest unbearable tight with emotions, I make my way towards the en-suite bathroom for a scalding hot bath. Maybe, this time I can finally scrub myself clean. From my emotions. 

Maybe. 

It’s almost ten when a soft knock sounds on my door. I rose from the armchair and put a bookmark in the book I was reading. Making my way across the room, I crack open the door to see Sophia staring at me with a cheerful expression on her face. 

“Oh dear, I hope I didn’t wake you?” Sophia’s smile is like coming face to face with a rainbow. It radiates color onto my sour mood. 

“Good Morning Auntie! No, not at all, actually I’ve been awake for some time but didn’t want to put down the book I was reading to come down,” I say sheepishly. 

Sophia just chuckles at me and shakes her head slightly, “Good morning! Crispin is going to raise hell if he also has to play the “Food is ready!” siren on you as well.” 

I laugh and open my door fully to allow her to step in. Sophia follows me as I grab the book on the armchair and pad my way across the floor to the bookshelf to place it in its original spot. 

“Mason and I were wondering if you would be comfortable sharing breakfast with us downstairs?” Sophia keeps her expression neutral when I turn my head to meet her eyes, but the slight hope in her voice isn’t missed by me. 

I smile at the woman kindly and make my way towards her. Grasping her hand I shake my head softly, “It would be my pleasure to have breakfast with you both.” 

Sophia beams and half a second later we’re making our way towards the dining room. 

Mason is seated at the head of the table, a copy of the Daily Prophet spread open. When he sees us enter he stands up and moves to hug me, then proceeds to pull out my chair before kissing his wife sweetly on the cheek and pulling out her chair as well. “I’m glad you decided to come down. I was hoping we all could get to know each other better,” Mason says before snapping his fingers for an elf to appear. 

Tilly apprates right beside him and bows before moving closer to Mason. “Yes, Master?” 

Mason gives the elf some instructions and Sophia and I take our seats. After the elf disapparates Mason turns to me with a grin on his face. He and Sophia exchange glances, and I pause, spreading marmalade on my toast. 

“Is there something going on…?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. 

The two exchange another secret smile and then turn their attention to me. “We were wondering…” Mason starts. I raise an eyebrow as if to say go on and grab my teacup bringing it to my lips. “We were wondering if you would be angry… if we hosted a ball in honor of you coming home.” 

I choke on my tea. Coughing I wheeze out, “A ball?!” 

“It can be a small party if you disapprove,” Sophia rushes out. “It’s just that it would allow us to introduce you to the world and… well.” 

I stare at the couple's hopeful expressions, and my determination unravels. “Alright,” I say. 

Sophia smiles while Mason punches the air in an excited “ Yes !” 

Sophia and I hold eye contact for a second before bursting into laughter and Mason joins in quickly. 

“Wonderful now Hermione since you have agreed we have to go shopping. There will be many people who are going to be coming, some out of love and respect and others solely out of obligation but they all will be staring at you, ready to devour you whole like wolves. You have to be prepared. Unless you want to get eaten alive,” Sophia takes a sip of her tea looking every bit the sophisticated pure-blood witch she is. 

I smile at her softly. “No, of course not.” 

When Sophia Goldswell shops, she shops. 

I am positive that I am getting spoiled. 

We have been to the most upscale magical clothing and jewelry stores in London, one more expensive and lavish after the other, and yet I still have not found a dress that suits me. Though I am not one for such lavish shopping even back home, whenever the girls went on their ‘Little—it was never little with the amount of bags Pansy and Daphne returned with—Shopping Sprees’ they had to practically drag me around, but with my lovely “auntie” I found that it was quite entertaining and daresay fun. 

“What about this one?” The seamstress who had been tending to us for the past hour asks, holding out a yellow gown. If Molly Weasley had blonde hair she could have been considered a relative to Madame Jenkins. 

Sophia narrows her eyes at the garment, scrutinizing it quite heavily before shaking her head. “No, it doesn’t seem right. My niece deserves something that screams ‘I am Hermione Goldswell’ and this won’t do.” 

The seamstress sighs, muttering something like “Nothing seems right .” and puts it away before wandering off to find something different. A soft smile plays on my lips when Sophia’s “AHA!” almost causes me to Avada someone on the spot. I whip my head to where the witch stands with a gleeful smile on her face holding a gown. 

“This—this is the one for you. Hermione go into the fitting room, dear. I’ll bring it to you.” 

I walk into the fitting room, shaking my head in exasperation. A few moments later a gown is levitated into the room. 

Holy shit. I know, just like I know that Hogwarts had four houses, that this dress was it. 

The navy blue ball gown is off-shoulder with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt that elegantly cascades to the floor. The gold detailing adorns the neckline and waist, adding a touch of opulence and glamour. The off-shoulder design accentuates the collarbones and shoulders, exuding an alluring and sophisticated charm. The rich navy blue color complements the gold detailing, creating a regal and captivating look. The gown is truly fit for a formal event or a special occasion, exuding timeless elegance and grace. 

It is breathtaking. 

When I step out of the dressing room, Sophia and Madame Jenkins sharp gasps voice that they share the same thoughts. 

“Oh… Hermione sweetheart, you look ravishing! Gods this is magnificent! We will go with this one. We simply have to.” 

Madame Jenkins, pleased about the fact that she will have a good sale in a few minutes and her momentary irritation with Sophia forgotten, only smiles at us before leaving to give us some space. 

Sophia guided me onto the dais where several full-length mirrors hovered. “It’s perfect, absolutely perfect. Do you not agree?” 

I stare at my reflection, looking like a goddess descended from above. “Yes, I do.” 

I stand in front of the mirrors in my bathroom and admire myself. My new self. 

My brown hair which usually reaches down my back halfway but is now in more manageable waves that Tilly has put in an ornate half updo with half cascading down my back and the other half swept into a bun the shape of a rose. Pearls align the two braids coming from the crown of my head to the rose bun that shimmer in the light thanks to Tilly’s magic skills. My makeup, which was something I was a bit more hesitant about, is done exceptionally thanks to the beautician Sophia and I went to in Diagon Alley. Josephine, a lovely witch with fiery red hair and sparkling blue eyes, did my eyes in a smokey blue look to match my gown. My lips are painted a light shade of pink and glossed over, and a slight tint is added to my cheeks (I refused to add more since I would start looking like a tomato). A slight shine is added onto my face with a charm causing me to sparkle like the amulet in Mason’s parlor. Well, our parlor now I suppose. 

A knock sounds on my door interrupting my thoughts and I walk towards the door, carefully to not trip on my strappy pearl heels with a clear heel resembling glass. 

I open the door to Mason’s palpable enthusiasm. “My— Merlin you look stunning, opulent my dear! Oh Gods Sophia never said it was this sumptuous!” Mason’s gobsmacked face and praise have me blushing a deep shade of crimson. 

“You and Auntie are too kind,” I reply, taking his offered arm to finally enter the ballroom. 

“Nonsense, I speak the truth only.” 

I smile and we make our way towards the beginning of the stairs. Stopping right before the first step I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves and sparked anxiety. So many people will be here today, looking at me. Hermione Goldswell. Some admiring and some judging. 

“Ready?” Mason’s soft voice and reassuring squeeze to my hand that is grasping his elbow soothes me a bit. 

I can only manage a jerk of my head and use my unoccupied hand to grasp my skirts in a death-grip

Slowly we begin our descent to where the noise of music and guests talking and moving about waits. The ambiance is filled with the soft murmur of anticipation and excitement as guests in their finest attire begin to fill the room. 

The red carpet under my feet does little to dissolve my fear of tripping. Sophia, who is talking to Bristle giving her instructions I cannot hear, turns their heads toward us as we slowly make our way down. 

“Hermione!” Sophia gushes, her golden gown swishing as she walks up the stairs first step waiting for us, hands clapped together in awe. “You look splendid. Tily did a wonderful job on the hairstyle, and your waves look elegant!” I smile at my fake aunt and beside me, Mason lets out an amused chuckle. 

“Alright me and Mason will go in first. This way we can greet some guests and then Bristle will give you a signal and you will enter, alright?” 

My eyes widen in fear but Mason quickly jumps in, “We will be waiting for you right there, you won’t even have to say anything. Just walk down the carpet and join us, introductions can be given slowly.” Though it does nothing to calm my ever-growing anxiety I nod slowly. 

Mason gives me a reassuring smile and offers his wife his arm much like he did for me. His white suit with matching gold detailing like Sophia’s gown catches the light. The two look like the description of royalty at the moment. Sophia’s gold heels and Mason’s dragon-hide shoes click in sync and they make their way towards the open doors where noise mingles in the air. 

After a few moments, Mason’s booming voice enters my ears from where I wait. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, esteemed guests, it is with great pleasure and excitement that I stand before you tonight to introduce a woman whose presence here brings an added sparkle to our gathering. Tonight marks a special occasion as we welcome our niece Hermione, whose grace and intellect have enriched our lives in myriad ways. As we celebrate in this enchanting setting, let us raise our glasses in honor of Hermione— our lovely niece, a woman whose passion for knowledge, compassion for others, and unwavering dedication to the betterment of our world may  inspire us all!” 

Bristle gives me a nod and taking a deep breath I enter the ballroom. 

Gasps fill the room, whether in awe or shock, I don’t dwell on it and take in the room. 

The ballroom for the event is a breathtaking spectacle of opulence and elegance,  a vision of lavish extravagance, a testament to the refined taste and wealth of the Goldswell’s. Swathes of luxurious silk and satin drape the walls, adorned with intricate golden embroidery and sparkling gemstones that catch the light from the chandeliers above. Each chandelier is a masterpiece of sparkling crystals, casting a dazzling array of light across the room. Tall, ornate pillars are wrapped in garlands of fresh flowers and cascading ivy, their bases adorned with clusters of flickering candles in golden holders.

The dining tables are adorned with sumptuous arrangements of exotic flowers—orchids, hydrangeas, and peonies—nestled amidst cascading greenery. Each place setting is a masterpiece of fine china, intricately detailed silverware, and sparkling crystal glassware, reflecting the meticulous attention to detail. 

In one corner, a grand stage is set with velvet curtains drawn back to reveal a world-class orchestra, poised to serenade the esteemed guests. Soft music fills the air, blending with the gentle murmur of conversation and laughter. The scent of gourmet cuisine wafts from the opulent buffet tables, offering delicacies from around the world.

The red carpet that stretches across the polished marble floor of the stairwell, leads to the end of the ballroom where Sophia and Mason await. The air is infused with the delicate fragrance of fresh flowers and the hint of exotic perfumes. The atmosphere resonates with an aura of sophistication and glamour, promising an unforgettable evening of celebration and splendor.

At the end of the room Mason and Sophia stand together beaming at me as the parted crowd marvels. 

Mason's smile grows even bigger as he stretches out his hand towards where I walk towards the two. “Please join me in giving a warm welcome to Hermione Goldswell !"

Applause fills the air and I take Mason’s outstretched hand when I’m close enough and stand in the middle of the two as flashes of cameras taking pictures blind me for a few moments. 

“You were lovely my dear,” Mason says, grasping my hand and squeezing it. 

“Yes, you were marvelous!” Sophia grins at me. 

The next hours after dinner pass with greeting guests and making small talk. Sophia, ever the charming and elegant woman, takes hold of the socializing reins whenever I need her to and I excuse myself from the current circle of guests to make my way to grab a drink from one of the floating trays, that are filled with various drinks and food hovering around for guests, when my “Uncle” comes to my rescue. 

“You looked like you could use a drink sweetheart,” Mason says with a sly grin on his face handing me a flute of champagne. 

I smile and am just about to take a sip when I nearly drop the glass. "Oh my god," I gasp in disbelief. 

Standing in front of me surrounded by a circle of witches, dressed in lavish gowns is a very familiar man. 

I could recognize that man anywhere. That slicked-back, white-blonde hair, those silvery eyes, those familiar, pointed features. They were all too familiar. But how? How did he manage to come here? Is he here to save me and bring me back to their time? Can he?

Mason’s eyes follow mine and land on the man who is now talking to another wizard whose back is turned to us. “Ah, that is Abraxas Malfoy. He's the most sought-after bachelor in Wizarding Britain. The sole heir to the Malfoy family line. His mother passed away when he was a child, and after his father died a few years ago, it left him to inherit an ungodly amount of gold—as well as a massive manor—all to himself. Ever the charming and notorious Abraxas.” 

Of course, that was not Draco.

It was his grandfather… Abraxas Malfoy.

I exhale slowly to compose myself and Mason smirks at me before grabbing my untouched flute and placing it on the hovering tray nearby, then grabs my arm and drags me towards the man. 

Oh shit. 

“Mr. Malfoy it has been quite some time since we’ve talked,” Mason says grinning at the man. 

“I believe it has been a very long time since we’ve spoken. I hope all is well. Collected any more exquisite artifacts, sir?” Abraxas Malfoy knows his manners. I could give him that. 

Mason chuckles and Abraxas’ gaze slides to me. “Ah, Miss Goldswell!” Abraxas takes my hand and places a gentle kiss on the navy blue sheer gloves with sparkling gold lace on their edges. His eyes meet mine while he is still slightly bent, lips brushing my knuckles, “The main reason for this lavish event,” he says with a slight raise of an aristocratic brow and moves back. “Oh forgive me where are my manners? Malfoy, Abraxas Malfoy. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Goldswell.” 

The words are so familiar I almost weep, but then when the realization of who is speaking them rears in I only give him a small smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Malfoy.” 

“Please call me Abraxas,” he drawls. 

For a moment I got caught in his dark gaze. Silvery eyes reminding of a man I had started considering a friend at one point but never voiced it out loud. The urge to say everything and anything rises but I quickly snap out of the trance that I was caught in and turn to the man beside Abraxas. 

His dark eyes, a stunning shade of brown filled with intrigue stare at me before a sly smirk appears on his lips. “Icarus Lestrange, a pleasure to meet you Miss Goldswell,” he says, grabbing my hand to brush his lips above my knuckles.
I give neither man the option to call me Hermione just yet. A fact that I know isn’t lost upon Abraxas if his smirk holds any message. 

“Miss Goldswell, would you allow me the pleasure of a dance?” Abraxas asks with a smirk on his face and though my feet do hurt a bit from the previous dancing I have endured, I still say yes. 

Abraxas smiles and takes my hand, weaving us through the crowds until we join into the small circle of pairs going through the steps of a French Waltz. 

Placing my hand on his shoulder and the other staying in his firm grasp we slowly fall into step with the other dancers, the beginning of a new song starting just as we begin to move.  The whole time Abraxas gaze never wavers from my face. 

“You're quite the dancer, I must say,” Abraxas says smiling at me while he spins me around the room.

I grin at him, “Thank you! You're not too bad yourself. I guess we make a good team.”

“Perhaps we should enter a dance competition together. We'd sweep them off their feet.” Abraxas says it in a serious tone but the amusing glint in his eyes says otherwise. 

“Oh, I'm sure we'd be unstoppable. But for now, I'm enjoying dancing with you,” I tease. 

Abraxas smirks at me and leans in closer to whisper in my ear. “ Me too. There's something about the waltz that feels so... intimate, don't you think?” His whisper slides across my spine causing me to shiver slightly. His voice is low, deep, and heady. It makes me feel drunk.

“Absolutely. It's like we're in our own little world here on the dance floor.” Though I try to affect nonchalance, my voice sounds as if I have run a marathon, just from his whisper. Abraxas smirks at me, clearly amused by the effect his voice has on me. 

“It's a shame the song will end soon. I'm not ready to stop dancing with you just yet Miss Goldswell,” he says softly. 

“Then let's make the most of every step until the music fades away.” 

With a sudden start, I realized that I was flirting with him. With Abraxas Malfoy. And I was enjoying it. A lot. 

The song does come to an end far too quickly but Abraxas and my conversations don’t. 

“I was wondering,” Abraxas starts, handing me a flute. “If you don’t have any plans this Saturday if you would be interested in attending a small party I’m hosting.” 

Saturday? As in tomorrow?” I raise an eyebrow. 

“Yes,” Abraxas says, looking at me sheepishly. 

I laugh at the absurdity of it but nod. “Oh, I suppose why not. You aren’t as awfully dreadful as the others so I guess I will have to say yes. Also because I think my aunt may pass out if she finds that I rejected the invitation from ‘The Abraxas Malfoy, Sole heir to the Malfoys’.” 

Abraxas chuckles, “We would not want that to happen, would we?” 

“No, we would not.” 

Abraxas smiles at me and I notice the subtle differences between him and Draco. Draco had a more pointed jawline and was all muscle and broad shoulders, while Abraxas was also muscular and broad-shouldered, his jawline was not as pointed. They were both the same height though, towering over me that I had to tilt my head up every time to look into his silver orbs. The nose was not as long, but the face still had that sharp, angular shape, and his eyes, those steely silver ones that rendered me speechless at times were the same. And so was the mischievous glint in them. 

“So you’ll come then? Tomorrow?” 

I smile at him and incline my head, “Yes Mr. Malfoy, I’ll be there. Please owl me the details.” 

“I thought I had asked you to call me Abraxas,” he grins at me. 

“Ah you did, apologies Abraxas, I had forgotten. I suppose since you have allowed me the privilege to call you by your first name. It would only be fair for me to spread courtesy to you. Please call me Hermione.” 

Abraxas’ answering smirk is feral as he places a final kiss on my knuckles. 

“Until tomorrow Hermione,” and with that he turns on his heel towards a group, leaving me speechless. 

Fucking Malfoys and their abilities to do that. 

When the night finally comes to an end I am ready to Avada the next person who asks me “How it was like to be homeschooled in Canada?” 

After saying goodnight to Sophia and Mason and thanking them for hosting the party I make my way toward my room, ready to fall asleep in the damn gown. 

I don’t. 

Instead after changing into my sleep clothes, I sit on the bed with Artemis curled into a ball beside me and wonder about what Abraxas Malfoy’s party tomorrow will be about. Who will be there? Many questions arise but none are answered. Sighing I lie back and close my eyes. 

I’m not sure how long I lie there waiting for sleep to come but I hear that same seductive whisper Anticipation really is the sweetest torture isn’t it, little viper? Before I am consumed whole. 

Chapter Text

"When I saw you I fell in love and you smiled because you knew." 

- Wlliam Shakespeare

I found myself ensnared in the chilling abyss of darkness, unable to see even my own hand stretched before me. The air was thick with an eerie silence broken only by faint whispers that seemed to slither around me like serpents. 

Voices echoed from every direction, whispering disjointed fragments of secrets and sorrows. Some were familiar, mimicking loved ones in distress, while others were unsettling, speaking in languages I couldn't comprehend. 

As I groped through the suffocating blackness, my footsteps echoed hollowly, the ground shifting beneath me with every uncertain step. Shadows danced just beyond my vision, teasing shapes that vanished the moment I turned to look.

Each whispered voice grew louder, overlapping into a cacophony of dread that clawed at my sanity. Fear tightened its grip around my heart, each beat echoing like a drum in the oppressive darkness. I called out, but my voice was swallowed by the void, drowned out by the haunting whispers that seemed to grow in intensity with each passing moment.

Time lost its meaning as I stumbled forward, unsure if I was moving closer to escape or deeper into the abyss. The voices became more distinct, their words forming a haunting chorus that reverberated through my mind. 

And just when I thought I could bear no more, a single voice cut through the chaos, chillingly clear and unmistakably sinister—a voice that whispered my deepest fears and darkest secrets, mocking me with its cruel familiarity.

Little Viper. 

My little viper. 

Trapped in a nightmare of darkness and voices, I struggled against the suffocating grip of fear, desperately searching for a flicker of light that seemed impossibly out of reach.

There is no escaping me little viper. 

There will never be. 

I make my way towards Mason’s office in the basement of the house. During lunch, Mason had asked for my help on a newly acquired artifact and since it was only two in the afternoon and I had nothing to do I agreed. 

Abraxas, true to his word, did send an owl explaining details about the party. It starts at seven in the evening. It’s a small party, with only his close friends coming over. I will modify the wards so you can floo to the Manor if you like. The dress code is formal. I snorted at that part, of course, it is formal. The Malfoys would never invite guests in informal clothing. Though I have seen Draco in his pajamas when Theo and I barged in once. A giggle escapes from my lips thinking about Draco’s horrified expression when we showed up at nine in the morning on a Sunday while he was just in his black silk pajamas. Snickering to myself I head down to the lab. 

The magical artifact laboratory was tucked away in the basement, accessible only through a hidden passage behind a tapestry depicting wizards dueling with dragons. Once inside, the atmosphere shifted to a realm of gleaming, high-tech enchantments, and meticulously organized chaos. 

The laboratory itself was a spacious chamber lined with towering bookshelves that stretched to the vaulted ceiling. Each shelf was crammed with leather-bound tomes, scrolls, and meticulously labeled jars containing various magical ingredients—dried mandrake roots, phoenix feathers, and vials of shimmering unicorn blood. The air hummed with a faint magical resonance, and soft glowing orbs floated near the ceiling, casting a gentle, pulsating light over the room.

In the center of the laboratory stood a large, sturdy oak table polished to a gleaming finish. Its surface was adorned with an array of delicate tools: silver-tipped wands, crystal magnifying glasses, and intricate divination pendulums. At one end of the table, a small fire flickered in a silver cauldron, bubbling with a simmering potion that emitted a faint, soothing aroma of lavender and mint.

Alongside the table, a series of workstations were scattered throughout the room, each dedicated to a specific aspect of artifact study. One workstation featured a meticulous arrangement of enchanted scales and gauges for measuring magical energy fluctuations. Another workstation housed a magically reinforced microscope capable of magnifying even the tiniest runes etched on ancient artifacts.

The walls of the laboratory were adorned with maps and diagrams, detailing the intricate histories and properties of various magical artifacts. Some maps showed the locations of hidden vaults and ancient ruins rumored to contain powerful relics, while others depicted the intricate enchantments woven into each artifact to preserve its mystical properties.

Nearby, a series of glass display cases showcased a rotating selection of artifacts under study. Each case was meticulously charmed with protective wards and runes to prevent unauthorized handling or tampering, ensuring the artifacts remained safely contained within their magical confines.

The laboratory was a harmonious blend of ancient mystique and cutting-edge magical technology—a sanctuary where wizards and witches could delve deep into the mysteries of the past, unravel the secrets of powerful artifacts, and unlock the untapped potential of magic itself. 

Behind the oak table, my uncle stands examining an unknown artifact. 

"Hermione, my dear!" he exclaims when he sees me enter the room. I smile at him nervously, moving my hands to smooth my skirts but then remember that I am wearing jeans and a black blouse with laces tied around the collar. Mason’s smile is warm, though his eyes hold a hint of mischief.

"Uncle Mason," I reply, straightening my shoulders. 

Mason gestures for me to come to stand by him, where a velvet-lined case sits on the oak table. Inside rests a gleaming pendant adorned with intricate runes that seem to shimmer with an inner light.

"This, Hermione," Mason says with reverence, "is the Veil of Shadows. Legends say it grants the wearer the ability to traverse the realms between life and death." 

My eyes widen with awe as I approach the artifact, my fingers itching to touch it despite Mason's warning gestures. I pull out a pair of dragon-hide gloves and carefully lift the pendant from its case, holding it up to the light. 

For the next few hours, Mason and I pour over ancient texts and scrolls, deciphering cryptic inscriptions and debating the artifact's origins. Mason's expertise in magical history and my knack for research made us a formidable team, each contributing unique insights that slowly unveil the artifact's mysteries.

As the clock ticks towards six in the evening, I finally straighten, a triumphant smile on my face. "I think we've got it, Uncle Mason," I say, proudly. "The Veil of Shadows isn't just a transporter between realms—it also amplifies certain magical abilities when worn in conjunction with specific incantations."

Mason nods approvingly, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Well done, Hermione. Your intellect never fails to impress."

Together, we carefully pack the artifact away, securing it with protective charms and wards before I prepare to leave to get ready for the party. As I bid Mason farewell and stepped out of the lab, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the unexpected partnership. Though Mason wasn't my real uncle, our shared pursuit of magical knowledge had forged a bond stronger than blood—a bond I knew would endure beyond our quest for the Veil of Shadows. 

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. 

“No.” 

I have an hour left until I am expected at Malfoy Manor for the party and I have spent a good thirty minutes of that hour trying to find the right thing to wear. 

“Tilly what do you think… Tilly?!” I look around for the elf before a hand shoots up from the mountain of clothes I have thrown out of my wardrobe causing me to scream. 

“Tilly is right here Miss,” the elf slowly rose from the pile, a sheepish grin on its face as she snapped her fingers and sent the mess of clothes to fold into a neat pile. 

“Oh Tilly I am so sorry I did not mean to bury you in that,” I give her an apologetic grin and head back to ruffling in my wardrobe. 

Just then my wonderful, charming, and very fashionable aunt appeared in the doorway.  “Can I provide some of my own advice,” Sophia says, smirking. 

“Please, I’m hopeless.” I step back and let Sophia do some of her examining. Finally, a couple of minutes later she pulls out a lovely white dress with a “Aha!” 

It’s white with gold lace adorning its edges. The bodice is covered in gold roses giving it the appearance of a wall covered in a rose bush. The skirt is a ripple of fabric, that moves with every slight turn and the gold stitching belt adds to the opulent appearance of the dress. 

“This will look lovely on you,” Sophia says handing me the dress. 

Within the next fifteen minutes, my dress is on with matching gold heels my hair is swept into a lovely bun, decorated with a gold comb and some added shimmer. My makeup is simple yet elegant with a Smokey eye shadow and winged eyeliner that brings out the brown in my eyes. My lips are painted a lovely reddish maroon. My whole attire screams ‘ I am a pure-blooded Goldswell’  

“Perfect, just perfect!” Sophia pulls me into her embrace. 

“Thank you, Auntie. I don’t think I would have done this without your help!” Crimson coats my checks at the praise bestowed upon me. 

“Nonsense that’s what I am here for. Now come along, wouldn’t want you to be late to Abraxas Malfoy’s party!” 

I roll my eyes but make my way down to the main floo. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Sophia grins at me. 

“No, do everything we wouldn’t do!” Mason walks out from the main living room and winks at me. “It’s not every day you get invited to a party from ‘ the most eligible bachelor’ in Britain. 

I ignore the pair who snicker at me and pull on my cloak before I grab a handful of floo powder and throw it in. “Malfoy Manor,” I say. 

The last thing I hear before the green flames consume me is Mason’s lifting laughter. 

Malfoy Manor is the same as it was during the first and only time I was here. The polished marble floor of the room filled with horror suddenly makes me want to wretch. The exquisite glittering of the grand chandelier blinds me viciously. 

Blink. And I am staring at the glow of the chandelier while music flits around. 

Blink. And I’m staring at the chandelier while screams rend the air. 

My screams. 

Mudblood. 

Mudblood. 

Mudblood. 

“I’m going to spell a word here.” 

Mudblood. 

Mudblood. 

CRUCIO

M-u-d-b-l-o-o-d

“I’m going to spell a word here.” 

“Hermione!” 

Blink. 

My head snaps from the chandelier above me to Draco—no Abraxas walking towards me with his arms spread out wide. His grin dims into a concerned look taking in my face. 

I realize that I was trembling slightly, clutching my left forearm in a death grip, knuckles white. 

Mudblood.

The word wasn’t visible thanks to the concealment band and I was no longer that word thanks to Ophelia’s bond. Yet the horrors have not completely passed. I don’t think they ever will. 

Abraxas eyes flick down towards my forearm. “Are you all right?” he asks. 

I let go of my forearm and took a steadying breath, forcing myself to be calm. “Yes, just floos make me a bit nauseous,” I look up at the chandelier again, “And your Manor is quite nerve-wracking, to say the least.” 

Abraxas looks at me suspiciously for a moment but chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Please come Hermione take a seat.” Abraxas takes my arm and guides me further into the room.

Now that I am not reliving the nightmare I take in the details of the luxurious room. A tall grandfather clock with gilded hands ticks in a corner. A grand piano gleams beside it. Framed paintings line the walls, that are covered in intricate wallpaper. There is a thick rug that has an elaborate snake-like pattern on it. Slytherins I muse. The mahogany table on top has a few thick tomes stacked on top of each other and a tray filled with many different liquors on it.

I smile at Abraxas, “You have impeccable taste Abraxas.” Abraxas smile widens. Someone coughs and our gazes break landing on the already-arrived guests. Crimson coats my face and Abraxas clears his throat before speaking. “Ah, Hermione let me introduce you to my friends. You’ve already met Icarus,” he gestures towards the black-haired man who gives me a small smile I reciprocate. “This is his fiancé Marie Rookwood. This is Adam Avery, Druella Rosier, her brother Evan, and of course, the famous Blacks: Cygnus, Orion, and Walpurga. 

Marie Rookwood was like the daughter of Narcissa and Daphne Greengrass: tall and graceful, her stature commanded attention. Long, flowing blonde hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves, catching the light and shimmering like spun gold. Her hair framed a face of striking beauty, with high cheekbones that gave her features an elegant symmetry. Her eyes are a vivid shade of green, like emeralds glistening under sunlight. They held a depth of color that seemed to shift with her mood. Her complexion was fair, that spoke of sun-kissed days spent outdoors. Soft, natural hues accentuated her features, emphasizing the delicate curve of her lips and the subtle contours of her nose. She was dressed in a lovely green dress that shimmered under the light making it seem like scales were sewn onto it.

Adam Avery was a handsome man, his stature tall and his frame lean, exuding an air of quiet confidence. Dark hair swept back slightly from his forehead, lent a mysterious allure to his features. His high cheekbones added a striking angularity to his face, casting intriguing shadows beneath them in certain lights. But it was his eyes that drew the most attention — deep and dark, like polished onyx, they seemed to hold depths of mischief and arrogance to them. Framed by brows that arched just so, his gaze was nothing but sly and his smirk was trouble. His complexion hinted at a heritage touched by sun and wind, a slight olive undertone complementing the rich darkness of his hair and eyes. He wore a navy blue suit and expensive shoes, fluctuating his wealth. 

Druella and Evan Rosier are blonde siblings with an aristocratic air about them. Druella, the younger sister, has cascading waves of golden hair that frame her delicate features. Her piercing blue eyes betray sharp intellect and a subtle wit. She sits with her ankles crossed elegantly, heels tall and pointed looking lethal, her black dress flawless and manicured nails refined. 

Evan on the other hand, her older brother, contrasts slightly with his sister in appearance but shares the same blonde hair and striking blue eyes. His build is more robust, hinting at an athletic prowess hidden beneath his tailored grey suit. He seems to have a charismatic charm, with a slight smirk that suggests he knows more than he lets on. 

Despite their differences, both siblings exude an undeniable presence.

The Blacks seem to be the most menacing of all of Abraxas’ friends, gazing at me in the way a predator gazes at his prey before eating it. 

Walpurga Black is a woman with hawk-like dark eyes, pale skin, and black hair which presents a striking and formidable presence. Her eyes, sharp and piercing, seem to miss nothing, calculating and observing with an intensity that seems unsettling. Framed by her jet-black hair, which falls straight and sleek, she exudes an aura of controlled power and determination. Her pale skin serves as a stark contrast to her dark features, adding to her enigmatic allure. She carries herself with a confident poise, each movement deliberate and purposeful, leaving no room for hesitation or doubt. There's an air of fierceness about her, a sense of readiness to confront any challenge head-on, making her presence both commanding and formidable.

Her husband Orion has an aristocratic moustache, dark hair, and brown eyes that embody a classic air of privilege and entitlement. His moustache is impeccably groomed, adding to his distinguished appearance, while his dark hair is neatly styled in a manner that suggests meticulous care. His brown eyes, though sharp, carry a hint of aloofness and indifference, reflecting his arrogance and occasional ignorance towards others. He exudes a posh aura, dressed in a tailored suit that speaks of his status and upbringing. His posture is upright and slightly haughty as if he inherently expects deference from those around him. 

Cygnus Black, Walpurga’s brother, and Druella’s fiancé is a man with pale skin, black hair, and light green eyes, who possesses a striking and distinctive appearance. His complexion is fair, almost porcelain-like, lending an ethereal quality to his features. His black hair contrasts sharply against his skin, styled with a controlled messiness that hints at a rebellious streak beneath his composed exterior. His eyes shimmer with a rare hue, reminiscent of fresh spring leaves, giving him an enigmatic allure. These eyes seem to hold depths of wisdom and curiosity, sparkling with intelligence and a hint of mischief. His demeanor is calm and composed, yet there's an underlying intensity that suggests he's always observing, always analyzing. He dresses in a way that blends sophistication with a touch of nonconformity, preferring tailored outfits with subtle accents that reflect his individuality. He is most definitely Walpurga’s brother. 

“It’s nice meeting you Miss Goldswell,” Avery says getting up from where he was seated on an armchair to kiss my hand. He gives me a sly smirk as he steps back to take his seat. None of the Blacks get up to greet me but give smiles that are laced with venom under their glasses. Marie Rookwood on the other hand almost topples me over with her hug. I smile at the blonde before Druella hands me a glass of wine. “Lovely dress,” she says with a small grin in a way of a greeting before sitting down beside her fiancé. 

“It’s lovely meeting you all.” I give them all a smile and Abraxas gestures for me to take a seat beside him on the loveseat. 

“I got a bit carried away with introductions but you do look quite spectacular today,” Abraxas murmurs, taking a sip of his firewhiskey. 

I blush and take a sip of my wine. “Why thank you Abraxas. I can’t say the same for you though.”

Abraxas grins at me before leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Not everyone can look absolutely ravishing every day Hermione.” My cheeks flame whether from the wine or his words, I’m not sure. 

“Oh but where are my manners? I completely forgot to give you a tour,” Abraxas says. Setting his glass, he stands and extends a hand towards me, “Come, I’ll give you a short tour of the Manor before my other friends arrive.” 

I rise from the sofa and place my glass beside his, taking his extended hand. “Mitzy,” he calls and a petite ef appears. “Yes, Master Malfoy?” 

“Make sure our guests are well taken care of while I give Miss Goldswell a tour.” The elf bows and Abraxas leads me out of the drawing room. 

The manor is a breathtaking sight to behold but the library is what makes my breath catch. It is truly a vast and luxurious sight. No wonder Draco was such an insufferable git. He was practically a Prince in this place. 

Next Abraxas shows me the luscious gardens of Malfoy Manor. A wide stretch of lush green lawns and some of the most beautiful gardens I have ever seen after Goldswell Manor’s. White peacocks strutted about, casting an enchanting look on the place. 

Suddenly a shrill, loud cry of delight came from the drawing room. “Oh it seems my other friends are here,” Abraxas says suddenly looking a bit stiff but then splays his charming smile on his face again. 

“If you don’t mind is it alright if I wander the gardens for a bit? It’s just that there so lovely and I would love to explore them.” 

Abraxas smiles at me, “Of course, come in whenever you are thoroughly satisfied.” And with a mischievous wink, he is gone leaving me to wander. 

I walk on a smooth, cobblestone path, one which leads toward the gardens. There is a huge, iron gate in the distance. That same metal had once contorted into a mouth, demanding to know who dared come to Malfoy Manor when Fenrir Greyback had captured them… Forcing the memories from that day aside for the hundredth time, I return my attention to the path. The air feels warm, and the foliage is all a lush green, full of life. I turn a corner behind a tall hedge and am so awestruck by what I see that I momentarily forget my turmoil. The garden that I had just entered was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen. There were flowers, hundreds of them, all vibrantly pink. White fairy lights illuminated the greenery, floating near the hedges like stars that had been dragged down to earth and set in place. I breathe in the sweet smell of flowers, an aroma far more intoxicating than any perfume. The walkway goes in a circle, decorated with tall, marble columns, and in the center of the ring which they formed is a stone basin. 

The sun has finally drifted away sparkling the night with millions of stars. Smiling I raise my face towards the sky and allow the feeling to wash over me. 

I’m not sure how long I stand there face tipped upwards, a gleeful smile on my face but eventually I turn and head towards the drawing room. Nearby a peacock squacks startling me and I trip over a cobblestone, my heel catching in a small crack. I brace myself for the inevitable fall that never comes instead I fall on something hard, something firm. A person I realize. Strong, firm hands gently grab onto my shoulders steadying me. 

“Are you alright Miss?” A smooth, deep voice asks. 

“Yes, yes I’m alright, thank you.” I step back, smoothing my dress, and look at my savior. 

And I can’t stop looking. 

Standing in front of me is a very handsome man. 

The man has silky black hair that curls slightly at the front. He possesses a striking and alluring appearance. His hair, sleek and lustrous, frames his face in a way that adds to his charismatic charm. His dark eyes are deep and intense, almost magnetic in their gaze, drawing me in with their enigmatic allure. His skin is pristine and pale but not devoid of color, giving him a porcelain-like complexion that enhances his classic features. He stands tall, very tall with a muscular yet lean physique and broad shoulders, exuding an aura of strength and confidence. His black suit complements his physique, embodying a perfect blend of rugged masculinity and refined charm, making him not only physically impressive but also incredibly captivating.

He looks at me concerned and I realize I have seen this man before. Well a younger version of him. 

And when it dawns on me exactly who it is fear like no other runs through my whole body. 

This… 

This is… 

He says it before my brain can even finish the sentence. 

“Tom. Tom Riddle.” 

Oh, fuck you universe. 

Chapter Text

"My heart is,

and always will be, 

yours." 

-Jane Austen  

“Tom. Tom Riddle.” 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Oh, fucking fuck. 

Tom Riddle. 

Tom fucking Riddle. 

Fuck me universe. 

“Miss, are you alright?” 

Blink. Tom Riddle’s handsome face stares at me with worry. 

Blink. Lord Voldemort's haunting face stares at me with malice. 

I have the urge to laugh hysterically. 

He reaches his hand out as if to touch me and I flinch. I fucking flinch and step back. 

I have to get out of here. 

I have to get out. 

Mudblood. 

Mudblood. 

“Miss?”

“I’m going to spell a word here.” 

“Harry Potter is dead .” 

Mudblood. 

I run. 

Tearing towards the gates, I don’t think. I don’t speak. I don’t even breathe. I just ran. 

I am too terrified to do anything logically. I have to get away from this nightmarish manor, those magnetic alluring eyes. I have to get away. I tear out my wand from my cloak that I never took off, ready to blast the damn gates when they fly open as I near. Spring winds slap against my skin but I don’t dare stop once until I am at a safe enough distance to apparate. Holding my wand like it is my lifeline I vanish with a crack. 

The world is silent when I appear at the gates of Goldswell Manor. 

My panic attack kicks in. 

Taking a deep breath I force myself to breathe. 12345 breath… 12345 breath… 

I follow the exercise Roxham taught while training as an Unspeakable while walking to the doors until I can breathe without falling into despair. 

I slowly push open a door praying that no one is awake. When nobody rushes towards me I let out an internal sigh of relief and make my way up the stairs. Thank God for small mercies. I reach my bedroom door and am about to enter when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I freeze. Keeping my wand at the ready I whip around to come face to face with. 

“ Tilly ?!” 

The elf grins at me sheepishly but must see my terrified expression and drops it. “Tilly is sorry to scare you Miss but Mistress has asked Tilly to make sure you is safe at home.” 

I force myself to smile, “It’s okay, I’m alright Tilly just got a little scared.” 

The elf looks at me suspiciously. “Why is Miss back already? It is only half past nine.” 

Fuck. “I—I don’t feel really good so I left early.” 

Tilly immediately jumps into action. “Oh, Miss you must tell Tilly you is not feeling good. Tilly will help. Does Miss have a fever? A cold? Shall Tilly wake up Mistress? Does Miss need to go to St. Mungos?” 

Tilly bombards me with questions causing my already spinning head to almost explode. “Tilly,” I say quietly but the elf doesn’t stop her rampage of sentences. “Tilly!” I hiss and the elf shuts her mouth with an audible snap. I speak more softly this time. “I am alright, I don't need anything. I just need a good night's sleep and I’ll be fine. Now go back to bed as well and I will see you all tomorrow, alright.” 

Tilly looks hesitant but eventually nods and leaves me be. I sigh and enter the safety of my bedroom. Stripping the dress I throw it away and fall onto my bed. 

I bring a shaky hand up to my face to cover the hysterical sob I have built up. Thank goodness for the undetectable silencing charm I already have in place. 

How could I have been so stupid? The year is 1950. 1950! Lord Voldemort is very much alive right now! 

“Fuck,” I whisper to myself. 

Fucking fucking fuck. 

Lord Voldemort—no Tom Riddle—is twenty-three at the moment. That means he probably has already made two Horcruxes. 

Again my thoughts turn towards cursing the stupid rock that sent me here. 

The rock. 

The rock. 

Holy shit. 

Draco said that the rock was found in the bedroom that Lord Voldemort had occupied, and that there was a chance that Lord Voldemort himself had created the rock or whatever the fuck it is. 

Maybe I was meant to come here. The thought perishes just as fast as it comes. Utterly ridiculous Hermione. 

The rock sent me back to a time when the ‘Knights of Walpurgis’ and the ‘Dark Lord’ were alive and not completely in the grasp of madness. Yet. Maybe Voldemort knew he was going to die so he created a time-turner. But then why not use a proper time-turner? Why use a rock? What does the rock do? 

So many questions. 

Why was the rock to be used as a time turner…?

My eyes widen as the realization hits. 

Lord Voldemort was going to flee the battle the moment he thought things were going to get out of his hands and use the rock to travel backward in time where he had his fucking Knights. He would have used the power and influence he had now to accomplish what he had come alive again for. He was just going to do it at a different time. Instead of conquering the world in 1998, he was going to do it in 1950. Because Harry wouldn’t be alive yet. 

Fuck. 

With that horrifying news comes a steely determination. That rock sent me here. So I can do something. No—not just something. Voldemort wanted to come back to conquer the world again at a different time. I’m going to make sure that Voldemort never gets to do anything wrong ever again. 

The clock in my bedroom ticks towards eleven slowly. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. 

Tick-tock Lord Voldemort, the countdown to your demise begins now !!

I wake up before the sun even has the chance to bless the world with its rays. Trudging towards the bathroom slowly I almost scream when I see my face in the mirror. Dark circles marred my face. My eyes were even duller than the most faded shade of brown. I stare at myself in despair before anger flashes in my eyes painting my eyes once again in the vibrant gold. I will not break now. Not yet. Not until I make sure that Voldemort has breathed his final breath. 

I’m halfway through my breakfast when Mason and Sophia make an appearance. The two pause on the threshold gazes sweeping over me and then silently communicating with each other. 

“Good morning, my dear! How did you sleep last night?” Mason probes innocently. 

I roll my eyes, “Uncle and Auntie, please just ask the question you want to. There’s no need for so many formalities.” 

Mason chuckles softly while taking a seat at the head of the table and Sophia flashes him a glare. “Tilly informed me that you arrived in quite a harried state last night and that you also weren’t feeling well. I hope that you are better now,” Sophia says, pouring tea into an exquisite fine china cup. 

Tilly, you betrayer. “Yes Auntie, I feel much better now, nothing to be worried about. I just was feeling a bit nauseous yesterday. But I am much better now, I was actually hoping to assist Uncle Mason with his work today.” 

Mason beams but quickly contains his excitement when Sophia narrows his eyes at him. “It is good to hear that you are better now, but next time— even if it is only a slight tickle in your system—, I wish to be informed immediately no matter the hour. Am I clear, Hermione?” 

Sophia’s inquisitive gaze discerns that she is in no mood for joking. I give a slight shake of my head, but the gesture seems to satisfy her and she finally smiles at me. “Wonderful,” she says, taking a sip of her tea. “I am going to be off to do some errands, I pray that behind my absence you won’t burn the house down.” Sophia looks at Mason pointedly and I raise a brow in amusement as Mason flushes under his wife’s gaze before grinning at me slyly. 

“It’s a long story,” he mouths to me before turning to his wife. “Of course not my love. I would never. You must have gotten me confused with someone else.” 

Sophia rolls her eyes before rising from the dining table. “Yes, yes, you would never.” 

I hide my amused smirk behind Earl Grey. 

After breakfast instead of following Mason, I make my way towards my bedroom, take a seat at the desk, and start penning a letter to Abraxas. 

Dear Abraxas,

I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to extend my sincerest apologies for abruptly leaving your party last evening without properly informing you. Unfortunately, I began feeling unwell and thought it best to excuse myself quickly. In hindsight, I realize I should have taken a moment to inform you directly.

To make up for my sudden departure, I would like to invite you for tea at my place or a location of your choosing. It would be a pleasure to have the opportunity to properly catch up and enjoy a leisurely conversation together.

Please let me know a convenient time for you, and I will make the necessary arrangements. I look forward to hearing from you and hope we can arrange a time soon.

Warm regards,

Hermione Goldswell 

I send the letter off with Mason’s owl Nocturne and make my way toward the laboratory. 

Mason as usual is nose-deep in another superlative discovery. He hunches over a workstation, examining a shattered mirror adorned with intricate symbols. 

"Uncle Mason, what happened here?" I ask, stepping closer to the broken mirror.

Mason sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "This mirror was uncovered during an excavation in Egypt. It's believed to be from the time of the Pharaohs, but the runes inscribed on it are unlike any we've encountered before."

My eyes light up with curiosity. "May I take a closer look?" 

Mason nods, sliding the pieces of the mirror toward me. I carefully pick up a shard with my dragon-hide gloves and examine the runes etched on its surface. They were indeed unlike any I had seen in my studies at Hogwarts.

"These symbols seem to combine elements of hieroglyphs and Nordic runes," I muse aloud, tracing my finger over the broken edges. "It's as if it's trying to bridge two different magical traditions."

Mason watches me with a mixture of admiration and pride. "You have a keen eye, Hermione. Can you decipher what these runes might mean so I can write it down in my notebook? It was said that the mirror seemed to exhibit some sort of enchantment before it broke."

I furrow my brow, deep in thought. I begin rearranging the pieces of the mirror on the workstation, aligning them to reconstruct the original design. As I piece together the shards, the runes form coherent patterns in my mind. 

"It looks like these runes are part of a protective spell," I explained excitedly. "They are meant to guard against intrusion and provide glimpses into hidden realms. The mirror was likely used for scrying or divination."

Mason's eyes widened in amazement. "Incredible!" He scribbles something down on his notebook and a question comes to my mind.

“But how do we restore its magical properties,” I ask, staring at the mirror. 

Mason sets his notebook down, grinning at me mischievously, and opens a drawer from the workstation pulling out a vial containing a shimmering silver liquid. "This is the essence of moonstone," he says confidently. "It's known for its ability to restore and enhance magical artifacts. If we carefully apply it to the runes while reciting an incantation, we might be able to reawaken the mirror's magic."

Together, Mason and I meticulously apply the essence of moonstone to the runes, chanting softly in ancient Egyptian, blending our voices in harmony. Gradually, the runes begin to glow softly, and the mirror shimmers as if awakening from a long slumber. 

Mason smiles at me gratefully. "Thank you, my dear. Your knowledge and skill never cease to amaze me."

I blush modestly, my eyes still fixed on the now-glowing mirror. "It was a pleasure, Uncle Mason. Ancient magic like this is always fascinating to unravel."

We are still gazing at the restored mirror when Crispin appears with a loud crack. “Dinner is ready Master, Miss.” 

Mason smiles at the elf fondly. “Thank you Cris we will be right there. Is Phia back yet?” 

The elf gives a curt nod, “Yes Master, Mistress has just arrived.” With that, the elf disappeared just as fast as he had come. 

Mason turns to me smirking and offers me his arm. “Come now dear, let’s go have dinner. I have no interest in suffering Crispin’s wrath today.” 

A laugh bursts through and I grab his offered arm. “Yes, we wouldn’t want that would we?”  

Arm in arm, we emerge from the laboratory into the grandeur of the family's luxurious manor. The evening sun casts a warm glow through the stained glass windows, illuminating the plush carpets and ornate furnishings that adorn the hallway leading to the private dining room. 

As they entered the expansive dining room, Hermione couldn't help but marvel at the opulence around her—the room was bathed in soft, golden light emanating from enchanted, crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, casting intricate patterns on the polished marble floor below, the elaborate tapestries that depicted scenes of mythical creatures, their colors vivid and their threads shimmering as if alive, and the long, polished mahogany table set with silver cutlery and sparkling goblets. I stepped into the room feeling a sense of awe at the sheer elegance that surrounded her.

Sophia, elegant as ever in a flowing gown adorned with delicate magical gemstones that seemed to change colors with her every movement, greeted them with a warm smile. "Ah, Hermione, Mason," she said gracefully. "I trust your work in the laboratory went well?" 

Uncle Mason nodded proudly. "It did, indeed. Though it was a long day spent meticulously repairing the artifact, Hermione's insights were invaluable in restoring the mirror. We managed to piece together the runes and reinvigorate its magical properties." 

Crimson coats my face at the praise being bestowed upon me, my eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "It was a fascinating project, Aunt Sophia. The mirror holds ancient enchantments that I've never encountered before." 

We settled at the dining table set with fine porcelain dishes and crystal glassware that sparkled in the ambient light, and Bristle and Crispin began serving a sumptuous dinner that Sophia had meticulously planned—a feast fit for royalty. The air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of magical dishes that seemed to shimmer with enchantment.

As they enjoyed the first course, Mason and Hermione shared details of their discoveries in the laboratory, discussing the mirror's origins and the intricacies of the spells woven into its frame. Aunt Sophia listened attentively, occasionally interjecting with questions that showcased her deep understanding of ancient magical artifacts. 

Uncle Mason regaled her with stories of recent archaeological expeditions to distant magical lands, where he had unearthed ancient artifacts of immense power and historical significance. Sophia it seemed had a passion for working with magical creatures and plants. She shared tales of her charitable work with magical creatures, describing how she had recently helped a group of unicorns find a new sanctuary deep within the enchanted forest nearby.

“Hermione, if I remember correctly you were homeschooled by Ophelia right?” Sophia asks, staring at me with a look I’m too afraid to decipher. 

I freeze, mid-chew, and stare at the woman with terrified eyes that I pray don’t reveal me. Even Mason pauses his rampage on mashed potatoes. “Uh yes, Auntie, I was. Why?” A curious part of me wonders why she is suddenly asking this while the other is too scared to find out. She doesn’t know anything, Hermione. She knows nothing. You were impeccable with the details. For fucks sake you created a Canadian ID. She knows nothing. 

“Oh, it’s just that you seem to have such extensive knowledge.” 

I give a nervous laugh. “Well, Mum ensured I had enough knowledge to outsmart a computer even.” 

I have never been more grateful for Mason’s laugh than I am now. The sudden tension dissipates in an instant. “That is true Ophelia herself wanted to be even smarter than Dumbledore.” 

My heart stops for a second at the name of my previous headmaster but I play into my facade. “Who’s Dumbledore?” 

Sophia answers for Mason, “He’s a well-known professor at Hogwarts. He’s usually seen at the extravagant balls the Ministry hosts. Quite charming, but the poor man has suffered so much.” 

Gellert. I smile and Mason proposes a toast to my brilliance and dedication, raising his glass of sparkling elf-made wine. "To Hermione, whose intellect and magic continue to astound us all."

Sophia echoes the sentiment, her eyes gleaming with pride. "Indeed, Hermione. We are so fortunate to have you here with us, sharing in these moments of discovery and joy." 

As the evening progresses, dessert is served by Pip and Floretta—a decadent array of sweets crafted. I marvel at the intricate designs and flavors that seem to dance on my tongue, each bite a delightful surprise. 

“Oh, before I forget we have received an invitation to the annual ball for Magical Artifacts Exhibition. MAE sent out the invites today. The ball is Saturday night.” 

“Oh, that is wonderful.” Sophia clasps her hands together cheerfully. “Hermione dear, we have to go shopping for a new ball gown.” 

I laugh, “Auntie I can just wear something from my wardrobe. I have an abundance of dresses in there you do realize.” 

Sophia looks personally affronted. “ Wear something from your wardrobe ?! Hermione, why would you do that when we can go shopping.” 

I open my mouth to refuse when that inner posh, academic voice of mine makes me snap it shut. Let her take you shopping. You aren’t Hermione Granger anymore, listening to Pansy and Daphne lecture you on fashion—no you are Hermione Goldswell the pureblood, the fashionista, you go shopping every day as a hobby. If you want the facade to be believable then start acting like Hermione Goldswell. 

A child-like part of me wants to say I’ll always be Hermione Granger but I know that she— I —am correct. If I want the charade to last I have to tread on careful waters to make it true.

And think maybe Riddle will be there? 

I don’t really think he will be there but there’s no loss in hoping. The faster I can find him and pull him into my clutches the closer I am to accomplishing my new goal. I’ll still try to find a way back home but after I end Riddle. 

I will make sure that Tom Riddle burns before he has a chance to burn the world.

Exactly. Stop being a petty little child and play the role you’re supposed to. 

Yes, I suppose you are correct Auntie, we must go shopping. I want the people at the ball to be starstruck.” 

Sophia smiles at me wickedly. 

When I return to my bedroom after dinner a letter sits on my bed. Smiling to myself I opened up the parchment.

Dearest Hermione,

I snort at the ‘Dearest Hermione’ part. He’s good. I wonder if Riddle is just as good.

Dearest Hermione, 

It’s a relief to know that you are feeling well now. Please do not be worried about leaving abruptly. Though I was a bit confused, it’s an immeasurable comfort to be aware that you made it home safely. Next time though, please, inform me of your health, I’d like to be of as much help as possible. 

I would love to meet with you again, and would tea at the Manor be alright with you this Sunday at noon? Not that I do not want to visit your lovely home, but I happen to have some errands to run and it would be easier for me to have guests here. 

I assume that you will be attending the MAE ball this Saturday since your Uncle is one of the main donors for that event, thanks to his extensive work with magical artifacts. I will be looking forward to seeing you there. Maybe we can even share another one of our breathtaking dances. I will be accompanying some friends — surprisingly even they got the invites, though I didn’t think the MAE ball invited feral beasts — and I hope to introduce you to those whom you haven’t met yet. 

I hope your health stays amicable and please let me know if the timing works. 

Take care, 

Abraxas Malfoy

Smiling to myself I write down a quick letter to Abraxas before heading off to bed. 

Dear Abraxas, 

Yes, Sunday at noon sounds lovely, I wouldn’t want to interfere with your plans. Yes, I will be attending the MAE ball with my aunt and uncle and if you promise to behave yourself I will definitely grant your wish for another dance there. I look forward to meeting the feral beasts whom you call friends. Maybe they will be even more charming than you are. 

Sincerely,

Hermione Goldswell

Friends heh? So Tom Riddle might be blessing us with his appearance after all.

Chapter Text

In the quaint and whimsically decorated Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop in Diagon Alley, Hermione Granger found herself seated across from Narcissa Malfoy, the clinking of teacups and the soft murmur of other patrons creating a cozy ambiance around them. It was a surprising invitation, but one I had accepted with curiosity and apprehension.

Narcissa, elegant as ever in her demeanor, poured tea into delicate porcelain cups, her expression serious yet tinged with a hint of vulnerability.  "Miss Granger," she began quietly, her voice soft but resolute, gaze searching my face, "I want to express my sincerest apologies for my actions during the war. There is no excuse for the choices I made, the alliances I upheld."

Taken aback by the sincerity in Narcissa's tone, I nodded slowly with a mixture of surprise and wariness. "Mrs. Malfoy, I... I appreciate your apology. It means a lot to hear you say that. It was a difficult time for everyone. And please call me Hermione." Narcissa Black-Malfoy, the woman who lied to Voldemort, didn’t take the fucking Dark Mark,  just apologized to me?! Am I dreaming? 

Narcissa inclined her head graciously, her pale blue eyes meeting mine with a mixture of regret and gratitude. "Thank you, Hermione, please call me Narcissa then. You’re right, difficult indeed. And yet, looking back, I realize now the mistakes I made, the choices I could have made differently." She paused, her slender fingers tracing the rim of her teacup thoughtfully. "I hope you can forgive me. And I also wanted to express my gratitude for your bravery, for speaking at Draco's and my trial. Your words, your courage... they made a difference." Yup, I most definitely am dreaming because I cannot think of a single logical reason for this to be happening in real life. 

I flushed slightly at the unexpected praise from someone I had once regarded with suspicion. "I... I felt it was the right thing to do. Everyone deserves a chance to make amends." I paused studying the woman before me, seeing beyond the elegant facade to the woman beneath, grappling with regret and seeking redemption. "Forgiveness is... important."

Narcissa nodded along thoughtfully. Their conversation drifted then, flowing gently like the tea they sipped, weaving through topics both weighty and light. "And how have you been, Hermione? How are things with you?" Narcissa asked gently. 

I hesitated for a moment,— oh fuck it all —,  then confessed, "I often worry that I'm not good enough. Not good enough as a friend, as a colleague... sometimes even as a person. There's so much expectation, so much pressure." 

Narcissa listened attentively, her expression compassionate. "Oh, my dear, I understand those feelings all too well. But let me tell you something, Hermione," she said earnestly, leaning forward slightly, "you possess a strength and intelligence that is truly remarkable. You have faced challenges that would daunt even the bravest. But strength isn't just about bravery in the face of danger. It's about resilience, about believing in yourself even when others doubt you. What sets you apart is your determination, your willingness to stand up for what is right."

My brow furrowed, my thoughts turning inward. "But what if I make mistakes? What if I choose the wrong path?"

Narcissa smiled gently. "Mistakes are inevitable, my dear. They are a part of life's journey. They do not define you. What matters is how you learn from them, and how you grow stronger because of them. But trust yourself, even in moments of uncertainty. Trust that you have the wisdom and resilience to learn from those mistakes, and to grow stronger because of them. Even when you doubt yourself, remember that you are capable of more than you realize. You know, I've always found that trust in oneself can often be the most elusive magic of all."

"Trust in oneself?" I hated how small my voice sounded right then.

Narcissa nodded gently. "Yes, especially when doubt creeps in, when choices seem unclear. It's natural to question oneself, to fear making mistakes. But you, my dear, you possess a remarkable strength within you. I've seen it, even in the most trying times."

I blinked, not entirely sure how to respond. "Thank you, Narcissa. I... I do try my best."

Narcissa smiled warmly, a softness in her eyes that I had rarely seen. "You do more than try, Hermione. You act with conviction, with an admirable clarity. But remember, even in moments of uncertainty, trust yourself. Trust that you will find the right path, even if it seems obscure at first."

I sipped my tea, contemplating Narcissa's words. I had faced many challenges, made difficult decisions, and often questioned whether I was doing the right thing. Yet here was Narcissa Malfoy, of all people, offering me reassurance amid a bustling shop.

"Thank you, Narcissa," I said earnestly. "I... I will try to remember that."

Narcissa inclined her head. "You're most welcome, Hermione. Sometimes, a cup of tea and a quiet moment of reflection can offer more wisdom than any spellbook."

As they finished their tea and prepared to part ways in the bustling atmosphere of Madam Puddifoot's, I found myself replaying Narcissa's advice in my mind. In this unlikely setting, I had found unexpected reassurance and wisdom, a reminder to trust in my abilities and convictions, even amidst uncertainty. As I walked back through Diagon Alley, I carried with me not just the memory of tea and conversation, but also a newfound sense of confidence and self-assurance, courtesy of Narcissa Malfoy's unexpected counsel—a reminder to trust in myself, even amidst the doubts that sometimes clouded my path— was a lesson worth holding onto, especially as the world around me continued to change.

Saturday arrives far quicker than I’d like and with it comes a fresh wave of panic. What if I can’t do it? What if I fail? What if I never get home? What if? What if? What if ?

Abraxas and my letters have continued sending letters to each other for the past two days and as weird as it is to send Draco’s grandfather flirtatious letters it’s relieving to know that I have gotten on the good side of one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. The others I’m not so sure about yet.

Mason has been busy with helping everything get set for the MAE ball and Sophia’s shopping sprees have officially started to cause a migraine. If I do not have to look at another shop for the rest of my life I will die a happy girl. I am not that lucky. 

From what Sophia and Mason have told me the MAE ball entails displaying various artifacts (ones that seem safe enough for people to take home) that have been found throughout the years and having them auctioned off to raise money for the Institute of Magical Plants, Artifacts, and Creatures otherwise known as IMPAC. Ambassadors—people who have donated artifacts or money to the cause—assist with the auction. 

So far I have been dragged to more shops than I bother counting, been prepped and prodded to look more elegant . My bushy hair was tamed into looking like more regal curls that are definitely more manageable than my mane. Not that I’ll admit that aloud. My gown is cream-coloured white, with a square neckline, and puffy sleeves that reach just above my elbows. Layers of silk fabric wrapped over each other form a simple belt around the bottom of the bodice. The skirts flow around me, engulfing me in a wave of silk. A large slit runs down the side of the skirt, from my thigh to the bottom, trimmed with lace on its edges. A type of glamour seems to surround the skirts casting an incandescent glow on the skirts. A silk ribbon of the same color is tied around my hair causing a halo-like effect on my head. 

I look like a fucking goddess. 

I feel like a fucking goddess. 

The last two days were not only spent trying to escape Sophia’s grasp and exchanging letters with Abraxas—no it was also spent learning about Lord Voldemort’s—Tom Riddle’s—minions. 

Tom Riddle has probably already created two horcruxes by now. The diary, of course. And the Gaunt ring. God, he’s only twenty-three with two fucking horcruxes already. He’s immortal. The plan that plays in my head in a loop is simple—which I know is quite the opposite of how this will be when I initiate it—but at least I have a fucking baseline on what I am going to do. 

To get close to Riddle’s horcruxes and be able to destroy them, I have to get close to him . I have to become someone he trusts. Someone he deems safe to tell them about. It’s a quite fucked up plan if I’m being honest with myself. I mean who am I kidding Tom fucking Riddle, Lord Voldemort. The vilest wizard I have probably ever met, he’s ruthless and dangerous , and I saw that firsthand, so to think that I have a chase of finding out about his horcruxes whereabouts is a quite large fantasy, but, oh, if it goes tits up in flames I can at least say that I tried . And I will try. My hardest. But a key component at the moment is that I have my growing friendship — would I even call it a friendship with the way we have been flirting with each other —with Abraxas? A part of me feels guilty for using our whatever it is for my use, when he does seem genuine but maybe it’s all a facade. Maybe he went home after the ball that day and told Riddle all about this mystery girl who is apparently a Goldswell unheard of before. But he had invited me before, and he sounded so genuine in his letters—no I need to stop before guilt takes over my plan.  

Once I am inside Riddle’s band of lunatics— yes this is what I am calling them, and no you can’t change my mind —I can slowly bring them down from the inside. No man is strong as he is with his limbs, Riddle’s limbs are his Knights, and I plan to cut Riddle’s limbs one fucking Knight at a time. Starting with Abraxas. 

A knock sounds on my door at six stopping my thoughts and I grab my skirts in my hands to cross the room without tripping over the heels I was told to wear. Forced is a better word for it. All I remember is Sophia, Tilly, and Bristle came into my bedroom earlier today to drop off the ball gown and help me get ready and also coerce me into wearing five-inch heels with straps that wrapped around my calves, in a complex way I don’t even want to solve. I open the door to Sophia smiling at me widely and then running an excessive gaze over my person. 

“You look beautiful dear! Are you ready to go?” Sophia steps aside. 

“Thank you, Auntie, you as well,” I say smiling at her. She looks like a queen herself, in a blood-red gown with black jewels running down the middle of the dress in a straight line. Her chestnut hair is intricately braided and adorned with tiny pearls. I find it shocking to remember she’s somehow forty-five even though doesn’t look a day over thirty. 

“Thank you, your Uncle is waiting for us outside with the carriage.” 

“Oh that's, wait what?! A carriage?! ” I come to a sudden halt as my brain processes those words. 

“Oh yes, it's quite lovely, I think you’ll like it.” She says it so casually like we’re discussing the weather and not a fucking carriage waiting outside. A carriage I didn’t even think people in the magical world knew what a carriage was let alone use it. 

“But why are we using a carriage to get there? Can we not just apparate or use the floo?” 

Sophia looks at me like I’ve lost my marbles. Which I’m surprised I haven’t. Yet. “We could, yes but our family is one of the main donors for this exhibition. We are literally the reason why this ball is happening, we have to arrive in style do we not.” 

My lips twitch with amusement but I only offer her a nod. Of course, purebloods and the heights they would go to show off. 

However, I couldn't deny the fact that Sophia and I would look right at home in a carriage with our elegant attire. I had grabbed a small, white handbag with a pearl strap to store my wand in earlier. Sophia stared at me when I mentioned bringing a purse but I told her that it would match my outfit and add more grace which effectively led the woman to drop the topic. No need to tell her about the wand in the purse, Though I’d much rather be drowned in a lake of fiendfyre before I came to any length of proximity with Tom Riddle without my wand close. 

Mason stands on the last step of the portico looking just as elegant as his wife in a matching suit. Upon hearing our arrival he turns around and his eyes widen with delight. He lets out a slow whistle which causes me to giggle and Sophia rolls her eyes at the wizard. “You know love when I told you to shock them all I didn’t mean to look like the next Queen of England,” he says pulling Sophia into his arms. I marvel at the couple as Mason kisses his wife carelessly. A part of them reminds me of my parents and their bond, which causes a pang of pain to pass through me. Traitorous tears prick my eyelids as I watch Mason stare at his wife in pride, admiration, and utter love . 

There was a time when I longed for someone to look at me like that. No, not just someone—in the fourth year it was Viktor, then it had been Ron, but somewhere along the past year I think, it changed to a tall man with a sharp tongue, and thick, slightly wavy platinum blonde hair. I haven’t given myself a chance to even think about what I will do if I cannot go back home, but if I did—if I managed to get home and land in the same office I had disappeared from—the first thing that I would do is throw my arms around that ferret and tell him all the unbidden thoughts I have been having. I’d throw caution to the wind because I’m a Gryffindor—we’re reckless and brave—and I’d sum up all that courage to tell him that I don’t want to be his friend anymore, that I want to be something more , anything more than whatever we had then— now . I pull up my walls before I start crying and ruin the makeup that was spent hours trying to get perfect. 

Mason and Sophia break apart and he turns to me with a look of pure joy. “And you, my darling, look splendid .” He pulls me into an embrace as well. “I mean it Hermione, you are a blessing sent from above,” Mason whispers in my ear before pulling away. I swear I see a line of unshed tears in his eyes but he sweeps his arms in a wide gesture towards the carriage, clearing any thoughts and bringing my attention to the item set before us. It really is quite a lovely thing. A graceful carriage, crafted from polished wood and adorned with intricate golden filigree, is elegantly carried by two white, majestic winged horses. Their wings, shimmering with iridescent feathers, beat rhythmically against the breeze, propelling the carriage effortlessly. The horses' coats gleam even in the setting sun, their powerful muscles moving with synchronized grace as they pull the carriage along the path.

I had the urge to ask Mason how he had enchanted the creatures to be undetectable to muggles and if this was even legal but held my tongue. It wouldn’t seem appropriate, and I was a Goldswell too. 

Mason helps Sophia into the carriage first then assists me with my skirt. Inside, plush velvet seats invite passengers to recline comfortably, while silk curtains flutter gently in the wind, offering glimpses of the expansive sky and distant landscapes below. Once settled the horses automatically take flight without being told to do so. I marvel at the scenery we pass by, mouth agape in pure shock and Mason chuckles in front of me. “It’s quite a view isn’t it?” 

“You have no idea, “ I say without looking away from the world. 

We stepped out of the carriage—Sophia and I needing some help from Mason thanks to our flowy skirts—and were placed in sheer elegance. 

Other guests also had arrived with ostentatious forms of transportation. Some in carriages like ours, carried by horses, winged ones and not, and even unicorns. Others had chosen magically influenced cars . My dress caught the light as I stepped onto the red velvet carpet laid out for the occasion. The Magical Artifacts Centre where the ball was being held was deafening, to say the least, with the noise of the crowd and the flashes of cameras. As we approached the ballroom doors, guarded by two stern-looking wizards, guests turned to admire the well-known Goldswells, acknowledging our arrival with nods of respect and whispered compliments among other things. The anticipation of the evening's festivities hung in the air, mingling with the soft strains of music that drifted from within the ballroom. My smile shone brightly as I exchanged pleasantries with familiar faces from the ball and was introduced to a couple of new ones, my heart filled with excitement for the enchanting night ahead. 

The wizards guarding the doors incline their heads towards Mason respectfully, and the one with black hair and a face that reminds me far too much of Goerge looks at me with an intrigued gaze before opening the glass doors for us. My jaw drops at the view in front of me. 

As I step into the grand hall, I take a deep breath of the air that is filled with an aura of ancient mystique and wonder. Tall marble columns rise majestically, their surfaces etched with runes and symbols that seem to pulse faintly with arcane energy. Soft, ambient lighting bathes the hall in a warm glow, casting gentle shadows that dance across the polished stone floor.

Along the walls, towering display cases of crystal and gold house an array of magical artifacts from diverse civilizations and epochs. Each artifact is meticulously arranged, accompanied by informative plaques detailing its history, origins, and magical properties. 

In one corner, a suit of gleaming armor adorned with glowing runes stands as a sentinel, its craftsmanship speaking of a bygone era of heroic knights and mythical battles. Nearby, a delicate crystal orb floats serenely within a glass dome, occasionally emitting soft, ethereal whispers that hint at its prophetic abilities.

Further down the hall, a tapestry depicting scenes of legendary wizards casting spells in ancient duels hangs from the ceiling, its threads seeming to shimmer with enchantments woven into its fabric. Nearby, an intricately carved staff rests on a velvet cushion, its gemstone-tipped end glowing faintly with residual magic.

The atmosphere is one of reverence and fascination, as visitors marvel at these relics of power and mystery. Scholars in robes of deep blue and emerald study artifacts with furrowed brows, occasionally murmuring spells of identification or protection. Each artifact tells a story of its own, whispering secrets of forgotten realms and lost civilizations to those who are willing to listen in this grand hall of magical wonders. 

The whole place is filled with witches and wizards dressed to their finest. A sea of black, white, and other colors blinds me as we weave our way toward a small circle of people in a corner who are talking animatedly. 

“Sophia, darling—oh, it has been far too long since I’ve seen you.” An elderly lady makes her way to us and immediately wraps Sophia in a friendly embrace. “You look stunning my dear, I’m so sorry for not being able to attend the ball you hosted last weekend, I was quite busy in Romania with a sighting.” 

Sophia smiles warmly at the woman. “That’s quite alright Clarice, come let me introduce you to my niece.” The woman’s green eyes flit to me, taking in my persona and she smiles at me warmly. “Ah, you must be the niece from Canada. I’m Clarice Oswald, I work alongside your lovely Aunt here with magical creatures and plants. I’m so very sorry I wasn’t able to attend your introduction ball, though it was all over the Prophet so I did get the plot.” 

I let out a little chuckle and took the woman’s extended hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, and please don’t be sorry about not being able to come.” 

“My,  I did not expect such a perfect accent from someone born and raised in Canada,” she says. 

I smile at her ready to respond in a heartbeat. “I always admired my Mum’s accent. I thought it was so beautiful, so posh, it made me feel like I was the Queen of England among all others. So I spent my entire life mimicking her, learning her accent, speaking exactly like her. I suppose after all those years it’s stuck to me more than I’d care to admit, but it’s good to know that I fit in with you all in some way.” 

Clarice throws her head back laughing in delight. “Oh, that’s amazing. I can just see you trying to speak with an accent like your mother. She was also my great friend.” Clarice’s laughter dies down and she looks at me with something like sadness. “You look so much like her. Same brown eyes, same wavy hair, you even have the same intellect as her from what I can gather. The only thing different is your face. It’s more heart-shaped but no less lovely.” She smiles at me again, “You’re very lucky to be Ophelia’s daughter and I know that she was lucky to have you as well.” 

Moisture gathers in my eyes at the longing words Clarice shares about a woman I didn’t even know, but my mother’s lovely face surfaces causing the tears to be a bit more realistic. 

“Enough of that, let's go meet the ambassadors of this event,” Clarice swipes a hand under her eyes and then smiles at me, taking my arm and leading us towards the group in the corner. 

A stout man stops talking when he sees us arriving. “Ah the Goldswells,” he says, stepping out of the circle to shake hands with Mason and place a kiss on Sophia’s knuckles. His beady eyes turn to me. “Ah, the mystery niece of the Goldswells. I’m William Richardson, one of MAE’s donors and an ambassador for Britain alongside your uncle.” 

I offer him a polite smile and Sophia dives into the story of my arrival and Opehlia’s death. The group provides us with polite, reassuring smiles, and then they grow into something more along the lines of intrigue when Mason pipes in about me helping him with artifacts. Soon I find myself engaged in lively conversation with the small group of esteemed wizards and witches. We stand beside a display of ancient Egyptian relics, discussing the intricate hieroglyphs and protective enchantments inscribed upon a particularly rare amulet.

"Miss Goldswell, your knowledge of runes and artifacts is awe-inspiring," remarks Renalda Zurzolo — a petite, young witch in her thirties with blonde hair, an ambassador from Italy — her blue eyes twinkling. "Your insights into these artifacts are invaluable." 

I smile at the praise, my passion for magical history had been evident in my animated gestures. "Thank you, Ms. Zurzolo. It's a subject I've always found fascinating."

"Indeed, your insights into magical artifacts and ancient runes are truly remarkable. Your recent research on the correlation between Celtic runes and protective enchantments has been quite enlightening." 

Humbled by the praise from such distinguished figures, I nod graciously. "Thank you. I've always been fascinated by the connections between different magical cultures and their artifacts.

Madame Genvieve Laurent, representing France’s Institute on Magical Artifacts, joins the conversation with a warm smile. "Miss Goldswell, your dedication to understanding the history and magical properties of artifacts is admirable. We've been discussing potential collaborations with the Ministry of Magic to enhance artifact preservation and research efforts."

A tall, imposing wizard named Victor Couture from the International Magical Artifact Preservation Society adds, "Your expertise would be a valuable addition to our initiatives, Miss Goldswell. We need individuals who can bridge the gap between academia and practical application in artifact conservation. Those who possess both theoretical knowledge and practical experience in handling magical artifacts."

I blink in surprise, my mind racing with the possibilities. "I would be honored," I reply, my voice steady despite my excitement. "I've always believed in the importance of understanding and preserving our magical heritage."

The ambassadors exchanged approving glances, reassured by my enthusiasm and depth of knowledge. 

I smiled at the group and moved to the next display case. As I was examining a delicate crystal orb believed to have ties to ancient divination practices a voice interrupts my thoughts. 

“It’s a lovely artifact isn’t it?” A voice speaks. 

A voice I could recognize even in my sleep. 

I turn to find myself staring into the sparkling eyes of Albus Dumbledore. The man who I used to look up to. The very man who had sent children to go save the fucking world. 

I twist my mouth to give him something that I hope represents a smile. 

“Ah, where are my manners? Albus Dumbledore, ambassador representing Hogwarts,” he says smiling at me and extending a hand. 

“Hermione Goldswell, Mason and Sophia Goldswell’s niece,” I reply, taking his offered hand. 

“Ah, right, I read about you in the Prophet . It must be nice to be able to connect with family, especially after your mother’s death. I’m very sorry to hear about that by the way. Your mother was a lovely student, quite intelligent.” 

Nodding I move to the next artifact, a mirror with markings in a different language etched on the bottom. The silver frame of the mirror had markings that seemed to resemble centaurs. Dumbledore unfortunately follows. “Ah, the Mirror of Fear. It is said that all your fears can be seen in this mirror.” 

It feels strange hearing his voice after so long. Though it hasn’t even been that long it still feels strange. Like remembering a dream you had. Vividly clear yet a stranger overall. 

The dim light of enchanted candles flickers over the room, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. Glass cases line the space, each showcasing a wealth of magical artifacts from centuries past. The hum of conversation buzzes in the background as guests stroll through the exhibit, their gazes flicking over the relics. I stand before an ancient set of goblets, Dumbledore stands beside me, having also moved.

My eyes narrow at the display. The goblets were elegantly crafted, shimmering with a faint blue glow.

"Hmm," Dumbledore muses, peering through his half-moon spectacles. "I believe these belonged to the Druidic Order. You can tell by the way they reflect moonlight. Very clever enchantment, indeed."

I, attempting to remain composed, give him a tight smile. "Yes, I know. I read about them last year when researching the origins of magical goblets." I carefully examine the intricate carvings. "These particular goblets were also used in ceremonies to enhance the magic of the moon. They weren’t just decorative."

I almost freeze. But remember that he doesn’t know I have travelled back in time and that I could have studied this last year and no one will find it suspicious at all. 

Dumbledore's eyes twinkle, and his voice drops into a playful tone. "Oh, I suppose you could say they have a rather... lunar quality, then."

I suppress a sigh. His constant puns were becoming almost unbearable. "Very clever, Professor," I say, my voice tight, trying to maintain an air of politeness.

"Indeed," Dumbledore continues, undeterred, as he moves to the next display. "And here we have the Mirror of Avaris, known for its power to show not what one desires, but what one most fears."

I stiffen slightly at the mention of the mirror. The idea of such a relic brought back memories—particularly of my own fears, which had often seemed clearer in my mind than any hope. But I quickly mask my thoughts, focusing on the artifact. 

"Yes," I say, my tone more measured now. "It’s said to have been destroyed during the rise of Gellert Grindelwald. Some believe it’s a way to glimpse into one's deepest vulnerabilities. Not a very useful object for anyone trying to face their fears in a healthy way."

Dumbledore's smile softens as he turns his gaze toward me. "True, but sometimes it is not the object itself but the way one chooses to use it, don’t you think?"

My brows furrow. "I suppose so, but I’d rather face fear head-on than let an artifact dictate my understanding of it."

Dumbledore chuckles lightly, his eyes glinting with a knowing wisdom. "Ah, Ms. Goldswell, always so practical. A quality I admire." He pauses, eyeing me with a slightly amused expression. "Though I must say, I think your frustration with the more whimsical aspects of the past is evident."

I give a small, stiff laugh. "I’m not frustrated, Professor. Just... I don’t always see the charm in magical items that obscure more than they reveal."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agrees, his voice softens into a more thoughtful tone. "Sometimes, what we don’t see is just as important as what we do."

I nod, my mind distracted for a moment as I observe a particularly intricate set of rune-inscribed crystals displayed in the next case. My hand instinctively reaches toward the glass, though I don’t touch it.

"These," I begin, my voice softening, "are from the Lost City of Atlantis. They were used for preservation spells—meant to keep both the body and the mind intact across ages. I believe some of them were also part of a ritual to shield the city's knowledge from prying eyes."

"Ah," Dumbledore says, appearing interested for the first time in some time. "You’ve done your homework, haven’t you, Ms. Goldswell?"

I nod, allowing myself a small breath of relief as the conversation turns to something that truly fascinates me. "Yes. I’ve always been curious about ancient civilizations and their ways of preserving magic. I think there’s more to learn from their mistakes than we realize."

Dumbledore studies me for a moment, a glimmer of pride flickering in his eyes. "I couldn’t agree more." 

For a brief moment, the two stood in companionable silence before Dumbledore broke it once more.

"And now, if I may, I must share with you a particularly baffling theory of mine regarding the architecture of Atlantis—"

My eyes twitch as I fight to keep my polite smile intact. "Perhaps, Professor, we should save that for later," I suggest, my voice brightening a touch. "We don’t want to miss any of the other exhibits."

"Ah, yes, quite right," Dumbledore replies, an amused glint in his eyes. "How remiss of me."

“Hermione, dear,” someone calls.

Dumbledore and I turn to see Sophia making her way towards me. Her eyes widen just ever so slightly when she takes in Dumbledore beside me.

“Good day, Professor,” she nods to Dumbledore before turning to me. “Hermione, dear.” Sophia sounds out of breath as she clasps a hand on my upper arm. “I need you to come with me.”

My brows furrow. “Why? What’s wrong?” 

“Because Abraxas Malfoy and his friends are here.” 

My mouth falls open. 

Sophia gives me a sly grin. “What,” she asks, innocently. “You didn’t think I would know what happens under my own roof?” 

The woman doesn’t give me even a millisecond to comprehend what she just said before she drags me through the crowd. 

“Good day, Profesor,” Sophia yells back to a dumbfounded Dumbledore.

 At the foot of the stairs stand Abraxas Malfoy, flanked by several of his equally insufferable friends. He is dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, a family heirloom cufflink gleaming at his wrist. His smug, superior look only served to deepen my unease. 

But it isn’t just Abraxas Malfoy that makes my heart skip a beat. It is the figure standing next to him—lean, pale, and dressed in robes so dark they seemed to absorb the light. 

Tom Marvolo Riddle.