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Chapter Text

You're a black crow in the shadows
Bleak eyes, far too clever
I'm a fly-high, sharp mind
Birds of a feather
You carry yourself like an old man
Your pockets are filled with knives
Any fool wouldn't notice
'Til they're begging for their lives
I won't resist the temptation
I'd fall with you through the dark
Turn my back for a second just to feel
A stab through the heart

The enchanted icicles hanging from the ceiling of the Great Hall chime softly, a delicate counterpoint to the  strings of the orchestra. Hermione Granger feels out of place in her plum colored dress and robes. She meant to go with the pretty periwinkle blue she found first, until her mother pushed this set into her hands with a smile. "You're 15, Hermione," Helen Granger told her, a knowing look in her eyes. "The world won't fall apart if you wear something that shows it." The words made her wince internally. She was 16 due to her excessive use of the time turner, though she'd never told her parents about that. There were lots of things Hermione didn't tell her parents.

But Hermione has to admit the dress is beautiful, deep red violet and trimmed with gold filigree, if not a bit more revealing than she is used to. Both Harry and Viktor said she looked lovely, although Ron simply stared at her as if she abruptly declared that studying was pointless. She just ignored him, rolling her eyes as she took Viktor's arm and headed to the Great Hall.

Two hours later, she's weaving through the throng of dancing couples, her sights set on the punch bowl. It's a refuge, a known quantity in a sea of bewildering social cues. Not to mention a chance to find somewhere to sit and get a bit of relief from the heels she definitely should have said no to. Then, as if in revenge for her uncharitable thought, the heel catches, and her foot skids across the marble. A gasp tears from her lips as the world tilts, the polished floor rushing up to meet her. She braces for the impact, for the humiliating crash that will surely draw every eye in the room.

It never comes.

A strong, unyielding arm snakes around her waist, halting her fall with an effortless grace almost as shocking as the stumble itself. Hermione is pulled upright, her back flush against a solid chest. The scent of vetiver and clove envelope her, sending a strange rush of heat through her body.

“Steady there,” a smooth voice murmures just beside her ear. It's a voice she knows entirely too well.

Her heart, which had been pounding from the near-fall, now hammers against her ribs for an entirely different reason. She turns her head and almost stops breathing. Piercing grey eyes stare down at her, long, pale hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck. Lucius Malfoy.

He doesn't release her. His hand remains splayed against the small of her back, the heat of it searing through the thin fabric of her robes, the other hand holds her own, his fingers closing around hers possessively. The rings he wears press cold against her suddenly burning skin. Lucius Malfoy is one of the most well known Alphas in Britain, but Hermione's never heard of betas like herself being affected this way.

“A stumble on the dance floor is a terrible thing to waste, Miss Granger,” he says, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “It offers such a… compelling opportunity.”

Before she can form a coherent protest, before she can even remember how to extricate herself, the music swelled into a waltz. In one fluid motion, he sweeps her into the flow of the dance. Lucius moves with predatory elegance, his lead so absolute she has no choice but to follow.

“I—I can manage, thank you,” she stammers, her voice sounding faint and uncertain to her own ears.

“Can you?” he asked, his tone lightly mocking, yet edged with something that makes her shiver. His eyes never leeave hers, holding her captive as surely as his arms did. “You seem to be managing my lead just fine. A natural talent, hidden beneath all those… books.”

They move across the floor, a most improbable pair. Him, the picture of pureblood superiority, and her, the Muggle-born know-it-all. Whispers trail in their wake, but Lucius Malfoy seems utterly impervious to them, his attention focused entirely on her.

“Why are you doing this?” Hermione whisperes, her mind racing through a hundred different motivations, each more sinister than the last. Is this a trick? A public humiliation?

He spins her, the world becoming a blur of lights and colors before he pulls her back in, closer this time. The space between them vanishes.

“Why does a man ask a woman to dance, Miss Granger?” he replies, his voice dropping to an intimate timbre that vibrates through her. “The music is playing. The atmosphere is… charged. And I would never waste an opportunity to ask such a lovely Omega to dance.” His gaze flickers down to the neckline of her robes for a heartbeat before returning to her heated face. “It would have been a crime to let you fall. And an even greater one not to see how you move.”

His words were like a foreign language, one she understood the syllables of but not the meaning. This osn’t the sneering bigot she’d faced in Flourish and Blotts or at the World Cup. This is something else entirely. Something dangerous and… alluring.

"I'm not an Omega. They start to present by 16, I never did," she tells him firmly. She's missed that window and is grateful for it. The entire concept of heat and fated bonds terrifies her, not that she would ever admit it.

Lucius lifts a single pale brow. "Your age is listed as 15 by the Ministry, Miss Granger. Are they mistaken?" The panic on her face must show because his expression changes to one of amusement.

He guides her through a complex turn, his hand pressing firmly into her back. A silent instruction. A demand. She follows it perfectly.

"I expect an answer, Miss Granger."

Hermione swallows nervously. Lucius Malfoy is on the School Board. He had to have been aware. Besides, surely Dumbledore cleared it with the Ministry. Hogwarts records would show her course load. "I was given a time turner last year... for school. I wanted to take all of the electives and..."

His hands tighten. "Dumbledore gave a time turner to a 3rd year student? Those are strictly regulated, nevermind illegal for use by anyone underage. Do you have any notion of how dangerous that was for you? Tell me, how long did you manage before having a complete breakdown from the strain?" His expression is furious, though somehow she knows it's not at her.

"I made it through final exams," she tells him, thoughts racing through the implications of what she's just learned. "But how did Dumbledore do that? Why would he do that?"

"My dear, surely you've realized by now that the only rules the Headmaster follows are his own. Did he not hide the Philosopher's Stone in the school? With protections so terribly weak that 3 1st year students were able to defeat them? Dumbledore is not the paragon of virtue he presents himself as to the world. The sooner you realize that, the safer you will be,  little one."

A flush of something warm and surely unwanted spread through her chest at the endearment. This was Lucius Malfoy. He despised everything she was. And yet, the way he held her, the intensity of his focus, the subtle pressure of his thumb stroking a slow, absent-minded circle on the back of her hand… it was confusing.

Stop it! Hermione orders herself. This is a trick. He's trying to manipulate her, turn her against her friends and the Headmaster. Although why Lucius Malfoy would bother with a Muggle-born like her, Hermione can't fathom.

"I do not say this to upset you, Hermione. Only to remind you that history is written by the victors, something I'm sure a young woman as intelligent as yourself is well aware of."

The double spin gives her a moment to think, and she hates that he isn't wrong.

"Why do you even care?" Hermione demands. "I'm just a filthy mudblood. Your son reminds me of that at least once a week."

He frowns down at her as the music begins to slow, drawing toward its conclusion. His hold on her tightens, pulling her the last few millimeters until the silk of her robes brushed against the fine wool of his dress coat. She could feel the lean strength of him, the power held in check. When the waltz ends, he doesn't let go, instead shifting so her hand is tucked in his elbow.

"Walk with me, Miss Granger," he commands, steering them out of the hall. "I must apologize for Draco's behavior towards you. I'm afraid his mother has far more influence over his beliefs than I."

"So you don't think less of me for being Muggle-born? That I don't deserve to have magic?"

Lucius sighs. "My problem, Miss Granger, is Muggle-borns forcing their culture into ours. Christianity in particular, especially after what our people suffered in its name only a few centuries ago. Even now, Hogwarts has its students celebrating Christmas instead of Yule, Halloween, rather than Samhain. Ritual magic has been all but outright banned, regardless of whether it's Light. Neutral or Dark. We are forced to practice the Old Ways in secret to avoid sanctions from Dumbledore and the Ministry. Does that seem fair to you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione looks up and meets the blazing silver of his eyes. "No, it's not fair. It's not fair at all."

He crowds her against the cold stone wall, not with violence, but with an inevitable, overwhelming presence. One hand comes up to cradle her jaw, his thumb stroking her bottom lip. His skin is cool, but where he touches her, fire blooms.

"You're shaking, Miss Granger."

She's about to respond when another voice interrupts her thoughts.

"Herm-own-inny." Viktor strides quickly towards them, concern on his serious face. "I haff been looking for you."

Lucius smirks. "Miss Granger was kind enough to honor me with a dance." He bows over her hand. The brush of his lips is like a lick of flame. "Until next time, my lady." He vanishes into the crowd.

"Are you vell, Herm-own-inny? Vhat did he vant?"

"I'm not sure. He just asked me to dance. I didn't want to be rude." She chooses her words carefully, refusing to acknowledge the strange pull Lucius Malfoy has ignited within her.

Viktor turns to face her, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders protectively. "You must be careful. He is a very dangerous man. Vhatever he vants is not good."

"It was just a dance," Hermione lies. "I didn't want to be rude."

Viktor squeezes her shoulders comfortingly. "Just be careful, yes,"

She smiles at him and wonders when ot became so easy to lie. "Of course."

              A few hours earlier:

Lucius Malfoy has been watching the girl all night. She dances like a proper Pureblood, flowing from a waltz to the foxtrot with ease. Ever since he got a whiff of her scent at the World Cup (vanilla, cardamom, a hint of rosewater), his Alpha instincts have been on overdrive, having finally found the source of the smell haunting his dreams for years. Watching her move tonight, Lucius doesn't see the know-it-all swot Draco constantly complains of; he sees an Omega of the verge of presenting. His Omega.

He stalks her through the crowd. A flick of wandless magic is all it takes to send her falling into him. She hides her emotions well, this mis-sorted Gryffindor, but the dilation of her pupils, the racing of her heart, tells him everything he needs to know. Mine.

Hermione's dress looks a mix of these two
https://www.caiqz.shop/?path=page/ggitem&ggpid=534945
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/beautiful-clothes--2181499814077347/

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight did nothing to dispel the confusion fogging her mind or the lingering heat where Lucius Malfoy had touched her. Sleep had been elusive, coming only when Crookshanks settled on her stomach. His buzzsaw purr finally luring her into unconsciousness. Quickly pulling on a skirt and sweater, Hermione looks at the dress robes she'd left folded over a chair last night. She picks them up, his scent still lingering on the fabric. Even the ghost of that smell sends her reeling. A gentle wash of heat flowing through her body like a living thing. Grimacing, Hermione shoves them to the very bottom of her trunk. Hopefully, if she can't see them, smell him, then Lucius Malfoy will stop haunting her.

The morning cacophony of the Hall hits Hermione like a physical blow. The clatter of cutlery, the shuffle of hundreds of students, the low hum of conversation— all suddenly, painfully loud. She winces, biting at her bottom lip, only for it to trigger another memory of last night. A ghost of a sensation, a whisper of cold, smooth skin that wasn’t her own.

Lucius Malfoy’s thumb stroking her lip.

The memory is a splash of ice water before turning back into that strange heat coiling deep in her stomach. How is it that she can smell him even here? Vetiver and clove drapes her like a cloak she can't remove.

Hermione slides onto the bench at the Gryffindor table, her movements stiff. The heavy English breakfast, usually so comforting, has her queasy at the thought. She settles for tea.

“There you are!” Ron’s voice is too loud, grating on her already frayed nerves. He's shoveling porridge into his mouth, drops already smeared on his chin. “We thought you’d died. What took you so long?”

“I was tidying up,” she tells him, voice tighter than she intends. She reaches for a piece of toast, anything to avoid looking at him.

“Tidying up?” Ron snorts, spraying a few bits of porridge. “After that display last night, I figured you’d be packing your bags to move into the Slytherin dungeon permanently.”

Hermione’s head snaps up. “What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, don’t play innocent,” he sneers, ears turning pink. “We all saw you. Prancing around with him. With Malfoy’s father. It was disgusting.”

Harry, who had been quietly poking at his kippers, looks up, his green eyes concerned. “Ron, leave it.”

“No, I won’t leave it!” Ron’s voice rises, drawing looks from nearby Hufflepuffs. “What were you thinking, Hermione? Of all the people to make a fool of yourself with! He’s a Death Eater! And you were… you were smiling at him.”

The accusation hangs in the air, ugly and sharp. Hermione feels a flush creep up her neck. She hadn’t been smiling. Had she? It had been a strange, out-of-body experience. One moment, she was falling, the next, Lucius Malfoy had caught her, pulling her against her body before spinning them into the waltz.

She remembers the cool pressure of his hand on hers, the effortless way he led, the way his silver eyes hadn’t left her face. His thumb rubbing softly across her bottom lip after, the hot brush of his mouth against her hand before he left.

“I wasn’t making a fool of myself." Her voice is low, but thankfully, not shaking. “He asked me to dance. It would have been more of a scene to refuse.”

“Right, because you’re so worried about making a scene,” Ron scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You looked like you were enjoying it. Really enjoying it.”

That's it. “You unbelievable git!” She snarls.

The few conversations still going on around them cease entirely. Ron flinches back, his eyes wide with surprise.

“You sulked in a corner all night because you were too much of a coward to ask me to dance yourself! And then you have the gall to criticize me for saying yes to someone else because I didn't want to be rude?You don’t own me, Ronald Weasley! You tell me I'm 'fraternizing with the enemy' for going with Viktor, and now you want to insult me further for simply being polite. Get over yourself!"

Ron stares at her, his mouth agape, the color of his face now matching his hair. He looks utterly shocked and says nothing else.

Harry wisely chooses that moment to intervene. “Hermione,” he says gently, leaning forward. “Are you okay? Really?”

The fight drains out of her as quickly as it arrived, leaving her feeling hollow and exposed. She looks at Harry’s sincere, worried face and feels a surge of affection for him. He isn’t accusing her; just asking.

“I’m… I’m fine, Harry,” she responds, tone softening. She flexes her fingers, the ghost of a larger, colder hand still wrapped around them. “It was just a dance. A very strange dance. But it’s over.”

She's lying, and she knows it. It isn’t over. The unsettling feeling is still there, a constant, humming awareness under her skin. She can still feel the exact weight of his gaze.

“He didn’t… say anything to you, did he?” Harry pressed, his voice dropping. “About me? Or the tournament?”

“No,” Hermione replies, and this, at least, is the truth. “Nothing like that. But he did say," she pauses. "He did say that his problem isn't with Muggle-borns. It's the people trying to change Wizarding culture."

"Huh." Harry cocks his head in thought. "Well, that's interesting. Maybe he's not as big of a prat as the Malfoy we're stuck in classes with." He smiles when Hermione laughs, glad to have cheered her up just a little.

Hermione glances down at her untouched toast,  appetite gone. The confusion is a knot in her chest, tight and uncomfortable. Why can’t she shake it? Why does the memory of his touch feel more real, more potent, than the wood of the bench beneath her?

She needs to focus on something else. Something concrete. Something that isn’t the cool grey of Lucius Malfoy’s eyes.

“Harry,” she says, looking up with a new determination. “The second task. You still have no idea what it is?”

Harry shakes his head, a glum expression returning to his face. “Not a clue. But, Cedric Diggory came up as we were leaving the Ball. Said I should take a bath with it, it would help me think. Weird, yeah?"

She stops in the middle of lifting her teacup. "Odd." She taps her fingers on the table. "Did he say anything else?"

"Just that he owed me. For warning him about the dragons."

“Well, sitting here worrying won’t help,” Hermione tells him, slipping back into the familiar, comforting role of the planner. “You should write to Sirius. Tell him what’s happened. He might have an idea. He’s been around longer than we have; he might know what kind of thing they would do for this. Or what the screaming sound the egg makes is. It’s a long shot, but it’s better than nothing. I'll do some research in the library. See if there's any sort of connection between water and dragon eggs."

Harry’s face brightens slightly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. You're the best, Hermione. I’ll do it after breakfast.”

Hermione nods, grabbing her bag. She can’t sit here a moment longer, not with Ron glowering and her own thoughts swirling in such a dangerously illogical pattern. She needs the quiet of the library, the solid, predictable comfort of books.

As Hermione stands to leave, she swears she can still feel the pressure of his hand on her lower back. His thumb rubbing lazy circles as his spins her across the dance floor.

The task. She'll focus on the task. On Harry. On anything but the haunting, electric memory of a dance that had ended hours ago, but somehow refuses to let her go.

Chapter Text

So far, the Second Task has been nothing short of a disaster, as far as Lucius Malfoy is concerned. He'd arrived in time to see Hermione Granger's body being levitated out of the Headmaster's office, her face still set in an expression of fury. Clearly, she hadn’t consented to this nonsense. The next half hour had been spent supporting Miss Rioghan and Severus in the attempt to convince Dumbledore of the madness this particular Task involved. Dragons are bad enough. Expecting teenagers to complete a bargain with the Fae, even those living on Hogwarts grounds, was legitimate insanity. They are, of course,  unsuccessful. 

He tries to file it away as a method of causing Dumbledore problems later on, but worry overrides any sense of political maneuvering. 

He settles in his seat next to Severus and does his best not to think of her at the bottom of a cold lake, at the mercy of the fae Mer-Folk who inhabit it. He fails, miserably. It takes all of his willpower, plus a great deal of Occluding, to keep from diving into the waters and dragging her out himself. It feels like days before he sees her break the surface, dragged along by the Durmstrang boy who's transfigured himself halfway into a shark.

Her head crests the waves, hair turned dark with water, and his breath stops. "Tell me you see what I do," Lucius demands of the man next to him.

"Gods," Severus hisses. "With dark hair, she looks almost exactly like Andromeda and Bellatrix at that age."

Lucius’s feet are moving before his mind catches up. He watches Krum push her up onto the docks before hauling himself up after. Madame Pomfrey rushes over, sweeping Krum away to fix his transfiguration and leaving Hermione to shiver on the damp wood.

                                       ~

Cold eats into her bones. Hermione can't stop shaking, huddled against the dock in a desperate attempt to conserve warmth. The last thing she remembers is Professor McGonagall leading her to the headmaster's office with Ron, someone yelling on the other side of the door. They walked straight into the argument. 

"You cannot seriously be intending to send people down there. Objects would be one thing, but people?"

"My dear girl, I understand your concerns, but I assure you, it's all perfectly safe," she heard Dumbledore reply.

The door swung open. Hermione only vaguely recognized the woman standing next to Professor Snape. A 7th year Slytherin who'd transferred over from Durmstrang at the end of last year. The rumors about her were... well, wild was a bit of an understatement. Fred and George insisted she was on the run from Russian Aurors, while Oliver Wood claimed she'd killed 3 people in Russia and had to flee the country. Hermione suspects the rumors would be much more tame if she'd been Sorted into any other House.

Professor Snape didn't seem to buy the Headmaster's assurances, and after her discussion with Lucius Malfoy at the Yule Ball, Hermione doesn't think she does either. "Miss Rioghan is correct. By accepting the task, the champions enter into a contract with the Fae. And it states very clearly that if not found within an hour, these people will not be returned." 

"That isn't going to happen, Severus. All of the champions are quite capable, I'm certain." 

Hermione could no longer stay silent. "But Harry’s only 14," she protested. "What if something goes wrong?"

The kindly grandfather smile he gives seems suddenly fake. "Rest assured, Miss Granger, I will not allow you to be harmed." 

"And how can you guarantee that?" Rioghan snaps. "Being the Headmaster doesn't give you any authority over the Mer-Folk. They're Fae and have been here since before Hogwarts existed. My family has a history with them. I do know what I'm talking about."  

Hermione didn't like being left out of a plan, especially considering that she was the one who typically made said plans in the first place. "I don't feel comfortable doing this," she told Dumbledore. "Just because I was raised in the Muggle world doesn't mean I haven't read the stories. The Fae always find a way to twist things in their favor." 

Ron fidgeted nervously behind her. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "Mione, I'm sure it's fine."

Across the room, Rioghan scoffed. "At least the girl has some sense," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Please, Headmaster," Hermione pleaded. "I really don't think this is a good-"

The world goes black.

                                        ~

She supposes this is what Lucius Malfoy meant, when he cautioned her against Dumbledore. Hermione feels like a bloody fool for not seeing it sooner. Well, she certainly isn't going to trust him after this. She tries to push herself upright but only manages to get her knees under her before her shivering arms give out. The wood of the dock digs harshly into her skin. There are a dozen people scurrying about her, but Hermione pays no attention to them until a pair of expensive dragonhide boots stop directly in front of her.

She doesn't need to look up to know who it is. A velvet cloak settles over her shoulders, blocking the wind and drowning Hermione in his scent. His fingers brush across the back of her neck like a brand, a single touch that has her burning in spite of the freezing water still clinging to her skin. When she glances up to speak, Lucius is already walking away. 

An arm draped suddenly around her makes Hermione jump. Madame Pomfrey helps her gently to her feet.

"Goodness, Miss Granger. You're half frozen. Let's get you into the tent and warmed up." Pomfrey steers her towards the large white medical tent set up 10 meters ahead of them. "This tournament! First dragon fire, now students half drowned and frozen! Never in all my years! Madness, I tell you." Hermione silently agrees while she's pushed into a hospital bed in the corner, sighing as the healer casts first a drying spell, then a warming charm over her. A glass vial is placed in her palm. "Now drink this Pepper-Up, dear, and we'll see how you're feeling in a bit," Pomfrey tells her, stern but kind, before bustling off to check on the others.

Hermione downs the potion quickly, ignoring the steam that bursts from her ears as she snuggles deeper into the cloak. The ermine lining tickles her nose, but his scent clinging to the fabric heats her body more than any charm or potion. 

                                        ~

Hermione dreams of a warm hand cupping her face, thumb tracing the line of her bottom lip. She turns into the touch with a sleepy mumble, arching against it like a kitten. Soft laughter next to her ear sends Hermione careening into consciousness, amber brown eyes snapping open to meet the grey irises a handsbreath from her face.

Lucius Malfoy smirks down at her. "Comfortable?" 

"What are you doing here," she asks, reluctantly pulling away from the hand he still hasn't moved. 

He props himself neatly on the end of her tiny hospital cot, dropped hand lingering a few centimeters from her thigh. Her whole body is hyperaware of his nearness, and Hermione fights not to blush as he leans closer. "Tell me, little hellcat, did you enjoy your stay underwater?" 

Hellcat!? Is that meant to be flattery or an insult? "It's not an experience that I'm interested in repeating," she finally responds. 

That insufferable smirk grows wider. "No, I suppose not." Lucius wraps his hand around her ankle, squeezing gently before sliding it up to her knee. "You are uninjured, I hope?"

Hermione's mouth has gone dry, heart beating hummingbird fast. She doesn't know if she wants him to remove his hand from her leg or slide it up higher. "I'm fine, thank you." The shake in her voice is damning. 

"Good. I would hate to see you harmed by the Headmaster's foolishness." There's an edge to his tone now, a warning. Lucius stands, fingers lingering possessive on her knee. "Will you do something for me, Hermione?" 

"That depends on what it is."

"Clever girl." He flashes her a sharp smile. "Look up the Head Girl from 1974. I wonder if you might find something... familiar about her."

That certainly isn't what she expected him to ask. "Why? What does that have to do with anything?" 

The smirk is back. Lucius picks up her left hand, pressing his lips to the back of it before replying "You tell me, little hellcat." And then he's gone, vanishing out the back of the tent like he'd never been there at all.

Hermione forces herself to breathe evenly, rubbing her hand over her thigh as if that will erase the feeling of his fingers there. Her neck and wrists feel strange, itchy. What is this man doing to her?

I've got some pictures to share, all AI considering I'm absolute pants at drawing. First up is Hermione and then my OC, Niamh Rioghan.

Hermione

Hermione

Niamh

Niamh Yule Ball

Chapter Text

The dust in the Hogwarts archives is centuries thick, a gritty, sweet-smelling powder that coats every surface and dances in the slants of late afternoon sunlight. Hermione Granger sneezes for what feels like the dozenth time, wand held aloft to illuminate the cramped rows of leather-bound ledgers. Normally, she'd enjoy this sort of thing. Books and research were always her strong suit. But the way Lucius Malfoy had suggested she look, the intensity in his silvery gaze, tells her that something isn't quite right.

Her dust covered fingers finally snag the right book. History of Head Students and Prefects. The entry for 1974 is easy to find. Head Boy: Timothy Tallow, Hufflepuff. Head Girl: Andromeda Black, Slytherin. Hermione wonders if this Andromeda is related to Sirius before her gaze snags on the photograph below, and her heart seems to stop in her chest.

The witch in the photo is around 17, posture perfect, the Head Girl badge displayed proudly on her robes. But her face... It's like looking into a slightly warped mirror. Darker hair, poutier lips, eyes slate grey instead of amber brown. Aside from those slight differences, Hermione could be staring at an image of herself. Merlin, she resembles Andromeda Black more than she does her own parents.

It's nothing more than a coincidence. It has to be. But Lucius Malfoy doesn't deal in coincidence. He deals in secrets and knives, often one and the same. If there was a connection, he knew it already and had decided to leave her breadcrumbs.

Hermione closes the book and shelves it with care before moving to the history section, where she knows she can find the genealogy of the British Wizarding world's sacred 28. All of the most prominent pureblood families. Without thinking, her hands reach for the book chronicling House Black, flipping to the back.

Orion Black - Walpurga Flint
  [                      [
Sirius Black.   Regulus Black - Calliope Kakistos
                                   [

Cygnus Black - Druella Rosier
[                         [                                      [
Bellatrix.   Andromeda - Ted Tonks.  Narcissa
                      [
                   Nymphadora Tonks
        
So Sirius and Andromeda were cousins, she thinks to herself. But that still doesn't explain the unsettling similarities. It shows Andromeda as having a child, yes, but the year of birth is a full 4 years before her own.

With forced calm, Hermione pulls out a clean sheet of parchment. Careful to ensure her shaking hands don't smear the ink, she writes...

Lord Malfoy,

I have located the photograph you referenced during our last conversation. While I do see the similarities you implied, I can not find an explanation for them. If there is any enlightenment you can provide, that would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,
Hermione Granger

There, she decides. It's polite, if a bit overly formal. But she certainly needs that distance. Even just sitting here now, Hermione can still feel the hot trace of his thumb across her lip, the way his fingers traced the skin above her knee. The cloak he'd swept over her shoulders still hangs from her bed post. More than once she'd tried to shove it to the bottom of her trunk with her robes from the Yule Ball, only to drag it back out in the middle of the night. His lingering scent of vetiver and clove the only thing calming her enough to sleep. And if Hermione had buried her face in the fabric, breathing in the scent of him while riding her own fingers, his name a fractured whisper on her lips, well, that was no one's business but hers.

                                           ~

Hermione buried her face deeper into the lush fur lining of his black cloak, biting the inside of her cheek to stay quiet while she rubbed circles on her clit. He was there in her mind. Sliding long fingers between her legs as he branded hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of her throat. Lucius, please, Lucius pleasepleaseplease.

                                            ~

"Merlin's saggy ballsack," Hermione swears angrily. Mind abruptly coming back to her body as she sits in the middle of the damned library. She casts a quick drying charm on the parchment before rolling it up neatly. Her movements are neat, precise. A desperate attempt at control while she deliberately ignores the slick wet feeling between her thighs, the pulsing throb at her wrists and neck. Bustling swiftly out of the shelves before her brain can conjure up any more... distractions.

Naturally, she walks directly into Draco Malfoy and his cronies, bouncing off of Goyle before falling against the wall behind her.

Draco claps in counterpoint to Parkinson sniggering at his shoulder. "Very graceful, mudblood. Perfect form."

It's on the tip of Hermione's tongue to make some sharp retort about his father finding her graceful enough to dance with when she notices Theodore Nott leaning forward, nostrils flared.

"Are you sniffing me, Nott?"

He shrugs and shoots her a smirk. "Something got you all worked up, Granger?"

What? ... Oh. Oh no. He can smell her... "If you'll excuse me," she says primly, rushing down the corridor while her face turns the same shade of red as her Gryffindor tie. She can hear them laughing behind her. Merlin, Morgana, and Nimue, they're going to mock her about this for AGES.

~

Five days later, a sleek cream barn owl with tawny gold markings drops a letter onto her plate at lunch. Hermione thanks the owl with a rasher of bacon before carefully opening the heavy vellum. A single sheet of Muggle cellulose paper falls out. It's a birth certificate from St. Mary's hospital, the one she was born in. But the name on the paper isn't hers. Hera Jean Granger, stillborn, September 19th, 1979. Mother: Helen Granger. Father: Thomas Granger.

With shaking hands, Hermione unfolds the letter.

Hellcat,

Imagine my surprise to find that your records from Hogwarts and the Ministry don't match those found at the Muggle hospital of your supposed birth. It takes a great deal of magic to alter the Book of Names, something that you might be interested to know, is only accessible by the Headmaster, the Minister of Magic, and the Lead of the Ministry School Board. Since I highly doubt you are some mythical Fae changeling, perhaps a visit to Gringotts is in order. The goblins are quite discrete, and their magic far less maleable to outside influences. A Lineage Test would likely go a long way in answering the questions you no doubt have. Do keep me informed.

Lucius

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

Hogsmeade weekend dawns brutally cold, snow coating the ground in thick drifts with more falling quickly. Hermione hesitates before throwing the black velvet cloak around her shoulders. It's the warmest one she has, and she can always pass it off as a Christmas gift from her parents if she has to. Sirius had asked them to bring food, so she takes a quick detour to the kitchens to get a large basket of picnic supplies before meeting Harry and Ron at the carriages. She fingers the edge of the copied photograph of Andromeda in her pocket as she walks. Maybe Sirius can come up with some sort of explanation as to why his cousin looks so much like her.

Pulling the hood of the cloak over her head, Hermione steps out into the snow. Harry waves and takes the basket from her hands as she climbs into the covered cart behind him. "Thanks," she tells him.

"So, Hermione, make any love potions last night?" Ron sneers, only to let out a pained sound when Harry elbows him in the ribs. Oh, she's going to murder Rita Skeeter for that damed article.

"Ron," Harry warns.

He goes ignored. "Did Krum give that fancy cloak too?"

"It's from my parents, actually," she lies smoothly, voice cold. "Not that it's any of your concern." Ron leans back against his seat in a sulk.

They ride the rest of the way in silence. Harry drags them into Gladrags first to get socks for Dobby. There's a ridiculous variety of colors. Eventually, Hermione picks out a pair with flashing gold and silver stars, while Ron finds an orange set that scream when in need of washing, and Harry selects bright blue with moving yellow snitches.

                                           ~

They follow the black dog from the Shrieking Shack up into the small mountains next to Hogsmeade. Halfway through, Hermione casts a Featherlight charm on the basket she carries since neither of the boys have offered to help her with it. Sirius leads them through a crack in the side of the mountain, and they squeeze into it carefully, finding that it opens up into a large cave. Buckbeak sits curled in the corner, gnawing on a femur.

As soon as Sirius shifts back from his Animagus form he sweeps Harry up into a fierce hug.

"Are you alright, Pup? I'm so sorry you've been dragged into this stupid bloody tournament."

Harry smiles and hugs him again. Relieved beyond measure to have Sirius believe that he didn't put his name in that stupid cup. "I'm okay," Harry reassures his godfather. "Hermione's doing tons of research, and Ron is keeping me grounded. I'm just glad you're here."

The smile Sirius gives him lights up the whole cavern.

Hermione steps forward with the basket. "I brought as much food as I could. There's a Stasis charm on it as well, so it won't go bad as quickly."

Sirius immediately starts wolfing down a sandwich. "Thanks, kid," he says between bites. "I can't steal too much food from Hogsmeade without attracting attention, so Buckbeak and I have mostly been living off of what we can catch." He takes a large swig of pumpkin juice from the flask. "Even in dog form, rats taste bloody awful." Ron looks like he's going to gag at that statement.

They all find a rock to sit on, as Harry fills Sirius in on everything that's been happening. The talk eventually turns to former Death Eaters, and Sirius tells them about young Crouch Jr. being brought into Azkaban and  how Karkaroff only escaped by giving up names.

"How did Lucius Malfoy avoid Azkaban," Hermione asks, not wanting to think about the blood on the hands that set fire scorching through her with a single touch.

"He claimed he was under the Imperius Curse," Sirius tells her with a sneer.

"Yeah, right," Ron huffs. "Everyone knows that's a lie."

"But wouldn't they have verified his claim? Made him take Veritaserum?" Surely there has to be some proof that he isn't a monster, Hermione thinks.

"I guess so," Sirius responds. "But they just shoved me in Azkaban without a trial, so who the hell knows."

A thought occurs to Hermione, triggered by her new distrust of the Headmaster. "Why didn't Dumbledore interfere? Make them give you a trial or take Veritaserum?" She frowns. "Wasn't he Chief Mugwump? Surely he could have done something. Unless..."

Sirius leans forward, a look of agreement in his eyes. "Unless what, Hermione?"

She takes a deep breath. "Unless he wanted Harry with his Muggle relatives. To keep him isolated from the Wizarding world."

"That's ridiculous," Ron explodes. "Dumbledore wouldn't do that!"

Harry shakes his head. "Dumbledore says I have to stay there because of the blood wards."

"That's his excuse?" Sirius scowls. "James and I did a blood adoption after my parents kicked me out. He could have done the same wards if you were living with me."

Harry looks torn. "I'm not... I don't know," he tells them. "Anyways, I need to figure out what the 3rd Task is and start preparing for it."

"I know, Pup." Sirius ruffles his hair. "My best advice is to brush up on your Defense spells. Shielding charms and disabling curses. I'm sure Hermione knows what books to study," he says, shooting her a quick smile.

When they get up to leave, Hermione asks the boys to go ahead without her, which they do after a bit of persuading. "So, finally starting to see behind Dumbledore's kindly grandfather mask?" Sirius asks once they're out of hearing rage.

"You could say that," she tells him. Hermione reaches for the photo in her pocket. "I wanted to ask you something. I found a picture of your cousin, Andromeda, in the library and... Well, just look at it." She hands it to him.

Sirius glances down at the image, then back at her, then back at the picture again, before staring at her in disbelief. "Gods. I thought you seemed familiar when we met last year, but I'd forgotten what Andy looked like at your age."

"Do... do you think we're related somehow?" Hermione scuffs her foot nervously.

"My grandfather's sister was a squib. She was supposed to have been adopted by Muggles. Maybe she's one of your great grandparents, and that's where your magic comes from. Do you know anything about them?"

Hermione sighs. "No. My father's family died before I was born. My grandfather on Mom's side died when I was a baby, and her mother passed away from cancer 6 years ago." She pauses before asking."Do you really think we could be cousins?"

"With how much you resemble Andy, I wouldn't be surprised. You could always get a Lineage Test done if you really want to know." Tilting his head to the side, he stops to think. "Go to Gringotts, and ask for Gripclaw. He manages the Black Family accounts, or at least he did."

"Right. I just..." A disbelieving huff escapes her mouth. "I get all of these snide little comments about being Muggle-born, and now I find out I might be related to one of the oldest Sacred 28. I'm not entirely sure how to process that."

A hand comes down to squeeze her shoulder gently. "Hermione, listen to me. Your birth doesn't define you. As long as you're true to yourself, that's the only thing that matters. And if we are related, I can formally claim you as a member of the House of Black, and everyone else can piss off." Sirius sweeps her into a quick hug. "Now go catch up with boys before they get too far. I don't want you wandering around on your own."

She smiles and hugs him back. "Thank you, Sirius."

                                             ~

She doesn't write Lucius Malfoy again, but every few weeks, the same sleek Barn Owl arrives with a new book. Offensive and defensive magic, dueling guides, all filled with spells that border on Dark, though they seem far more effective than anything she's found at Hogwarts. She's taken to practicing in empty classrooms. It's May, the weather mild, and Hermione is particularly interested in a variation on a shielding charm that absorbs curses, using their magic to reinforce itself. It glows around her, dark blue flecked with gold. "Tuitio," she casts again, trying to see how far she can spread the shield.

The door bursts open, startling her into dropping the spell. "There you are," Ron exclaims, Harry right behind him. "Come on. We just found out about the 3rd Task."

Hermione tucks the book, charmed to look like an Arithmancy text, into her bag, following them out the door. "Well? What is it?"

"It's a maze," Harry says, and Hermione starts laughing, making both boys stare at her in confusion.

"I'm sorry," she tells them. "It's just, first a dragon, then dealing with underwater Fae. I'm glad it's nothing crazy but it seems a bit anticlimactic."

Harry shrugs. "Apparently, we just have to reach the cup in the center to win. Bagman did say there were going to be 'obstacles,' but I'm not sure I like the way he said it."

"And there's the crazy part," Hermione replies, sighing with resignation. "Let's head to the library and figure out what spells you'll need to learn. I found a slicing hex that might be useful. It cuts down to the bone, so it would be good if you come up against something that can't be stunned."

Harry flashes her a relieved grin. "Have I told you you're brilliant lately."

She laughs again. "It's always nice to hear."

                                          ~

The air in her dorm room feels stifling. It's 2 in the morning, and Hermione stares blankly at the red velvet drapes. Her concern for Harry in tomorrow's task mixes with her certainty that Lucius Malfoy will be present. She has no idea what to say to him.

She can't sleep, just tosses back and forth before finally caving and dragging the cloak into bed with her. The scent calms her. Hermione wraps the cloak around her body, imagines being held like this. Tucked against a broad chest with an arm around her waist, wrapped in vetiver and clove.

No. This has to stop. She has to stop. He's not going to approach her tomorrow, and she's going to ignore him. She is. Absolutely. Definitely. The cloak stays

Chapter Text

There's a charge to the air the next morning. Everyone else buzzing with excitement while the champions and their friends poke nervously at breakfast. Harry stares down at his food like it might attack.

"You need to eat," Hermione encourages him, despite barely choking down a scone herself. Her stomach is a tangle of knots. Fear, confusion, anticipation. No, she tells herself. There is zero anticipation. She does not want to see Lucius Malfoy. She doesn't. Never mind that her heart beats faster with the knowledge that he'll be here in only a few hours.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Harry whispers faintly.

"Cheer up, mate," Ron says around bites of sausage. "You'll be fine."

Harry’s only response is a pained groan, so Hermione takes over. "Really, Harry. You’ll do great. You've got all the spells memorized. Everything will be okay. Try to eat some toast, at least."

"Right. Yeah. Toast."

She holds in her sigh and reaches over to rub his back comfortingly.

                                              ~

Time seems to speed up suddenly, and before Hermione knows it, the afternoon is almost gone. As with the previous events, Harry is swept away with the other champions, leaving her and Ron to follow. Lucius’s scent hits her as soon as she steps into the corridor. Not memory. Real. Her feet stop without approval from her mind, freezing her in place as the rest of the students shuffle past. The tap of his cane, the click of his boots, coming up from behind once the last person has turned the corner.

She can feel the heat of his body, inches from her spine. One hand reaches out to tug a loose curl. "Did you miss me, little hellcat?" The smooth purr of his voice against her ear.

A shiver ripples through her. Involuntary. Traitorous. "What are you doing?" she demands.

The hand leaves her hair, turns her to face him. Her bones thrum with his nearness. "I'm attempting to have a conversation." Half a smirk plays at his lips.

"You know what I mean. What is this? With me? I'm not here to be made a fool of. If this is some sort of sick game..."

"No games, little one. The furthest thing from it."

She keeps her eyes fixed firmly on Lucius’s chest, terrified of what her face will show. Two fingers slide under her chin, raising her gaze to his.

"Did Black have any insight into your little mystery?"

Her mouth goes dry. "Who?"

The expression on his face shifts to one of arrogant amusement. His thumb strokes the line of her jaw. "I've no doubt Potter keeps in touch with his godfather. And you're not the sort of young woman to let a resource go to waste."

It takes all of Hermione's willpower to keep from arching into his touch. "He said his grandfather's sister was a squib. That I'm probably related to her."

"Perhaps," he allows. Lucius steps forward, body brushing hers as the hand beneath her chin slides up to cup her face. His expression turns grave. "Listen to me, Hermione." The command in his voice is clear. "Things are about to become very dangerous. I don't know when, but soon. You will keep yourself safe." Those sharp grey eyes are grim, resigned.

Fear pools in her stomach. Then his head dips down, fingers sinking into her hair as his lips claim her own. Gods. The way he licks into her mouth like honeyed fire, the smooth slide of his tongue. Hermione burns. She moans softly, wanting more, more, more. A small whimper escapes when Lucius finally pulls back. He stares at her intently for a heartbeat, two. And then he's gone. Striding away as if he hasn't just turned her world on its axis. Her knees are weak, breath ragged. Utterly certain that nothing will ever be the same.

                                               ~

By the time Hermione reaches her seat in the Quidditch stand, she hopes she's composed herself enough not to look as wrecked as she feels. She squeezes in between Ginny and Ron. There's a loud bang, a shower of bright blue sparks, and Harry and Cedric Diggory go racing into the maze, followed first by Viktor, then Fleur Delacour. They can barely see inside the 8 meter high hedge rows, which only serves to make the entire ordeal  even more nerve-wracking.

She glimpses a flash of fire and a wisp of golden mist, but nothing that tells her what's happening. Everyone around her is standing on their seats, trying to get a better look. All they can see is the center of the maze where the trophy is placed.

Then finally, finally, Harry comes into view, Cedric right on his heels. They stop, talking quickly, both gesturing towards the trophy. Eventually, they shake hands and approach the raised pedestal together. They each grab a handle at the same time. There's a pop, a blink of light, and then, they're gone.

For a long moment, silence stretches across the field. Then, a man screams Cedric's name. Shouts rush through the arena, demands to know what happened, where they are. Hermione cranes her neck to see the judge's box, where all of the staff members are. Fudge is wringing his hands uselessly. Dumbledore and McGonagall are rushing onto the pitch, Hagrid and Cedric's father close behind them. Snape and Lucius sit stiffly next to each other, mouths tight and eyes hard. Something is terribly wrong.

                                             ~

The Headmaster is still trying to calm everyone down 20 minutes later. Something seems to tug at her, and Hermione turns back towards the judge's box. Both Snape and Lucius have gone stark white, desperately trying to keep their expressions neutral despite the shock and horror in their eyes. Lucius grimaces, clutching at his left arm before rushing out of the box.

"I'm going to see if anyone knows anything," she tells Ron, jumping up to follow.

"Okay." Ron's tone is strained, eyes locked on the field in front of him.

Hermione races after the man, lengthening her stride until she's running at full speed. "Lucius," she calls. "Lucius!"

He snaps around to see her, and she pours on another burst of speed to reach him. "Go back to the stands." His voice is a low, harsh growl that stops Hermione in her tracks. The terror on his face turns her blood to ice. "NOW!" Lucius roars. Her feet are moving before her brain catches up, whatever part of her that recognizes him as an Alpha submitting instantly. Alpha commands only work for protection, never coercion. Which means this is bad. Very, very bad.

She jogs back to the Quidditch field, pacing the sidelines. Waiting, heart caught in her throat. Dumbledore and Snape are whispering furiously back and forth, the older man's face growing increasingly severe. It seems like an eternity before screams cut through the air. Hermione scrambles up the side of the stands to see into the center of the maze. When she finally has a clear line of sight, she nearly vomits.

Harry is kneeling, bloodied, the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory sprawled beside him on the ground. "He's back!" Harry sobs. "Voldemort! He's back!"

                                            ~

Lucius stands as still has he can manage and fights the bile rising up his throat. He shoves a gloved hand under his nose, inhaling the vanilla scent of her hair in a frantic attempt to ground himself. The mark, once faded, has been slowly turning darker over the past few years, haunting him with promise. Warning her had been sentimental foolishness, kissing her even more so, but if he'd known this was coming tonight damn if he wouldn't have done it sooner. She was always going to be a target, whether from her friendship with Potter or her assumed blood status. If he survives the night, he'll have to make sure she knows that.

Never in a million years will Lucius Malfoy admit to this, but he's proud when the boy manages to escape. Both the shield charm and the Usque ad Ossa slicing hex he'd hit that worm Pettigrew with came from the books Lucius had sent Hermione. He hadn’t known about the shared wand cores, though. Priori Incantatem and its golden light recognizable by anyone who'd studied wand lore. Of course, Potter getting away will not go well for those left behind. Lucius grits his teeth, strengthens his Occlumency shields, and settles in for a long night of torture curses.

                                             ~

Things devolve rapidly after Harry’s return. Everyone is yelling. The younger students are terrified. Mrs. Diggory has collapsed over her son's body, choking out broken sobs as she clings to him. Amos Diggory is shouting at Dumbledore, demanding to know how the hell this happened. At some point, Harry disappears, and Hermione panics. There's no time to grab anyone else, so she snatches out her wand, hissing, "Point me, Harry Potter," and takes off in the direction it turns to.

Years of ballet before Hogwarts and keeping it up for exercise have built her core strength. She uses all of that now, racing through the dark. In the distance, she can see Harry’s messy hair illuminated against the castle lights, the grizzled outline of their defense teacher next to him. Moody always smelled strange to her. Pungent but aromatic. Oddly reminiscent of fluxweed. It's all too familiar to her, after spending 2 weeks brewing Polyjuice in the girl's lavatory.

Polyjuice? Hermione swears viciously under her breath and forces herself faster. She may not be able to breathe or even stand once she gets there, but by Earth and Fire, she WILL get there.

They're long gone by the time she reaches the castle entrance. Another quick Point Me spell, and she's sprinting up the stairs towards 'Moody's' office. The door is in sight when she hears Professor McGonagall call her name from behind. She risks a glance back, sees her, Dumbledore, and Professor Snape hot on her heels, but doesn't slow down.

A silent Alohomora unlocks the door, and Hermione slams through it at top speed. "Incarcerous," she shouts, binding the man looming over her friend before hitting the desk as she skids to a stop. The Headmaster bursts into the room half a second later, both professors at his back. All 3 have their wands drawn. Hermione drags herself into a chair before her legs give out, gasping for air, lungs screaming in protest.

"Very good, Miss Granger. Severus, please bring some Veritaserum." Snape flashes her an odd look before leaving. "Minerva. You'll find a large black dog by the pumpkin patch. Please bring him to my office." The transfiguration professor cocks an eyebrow in question but does as asked. Harry reaches for her hand and grips it tightly.

The rest is a blur. She remembers Dumbledore finding the real Alastor Moody, the insanity of Crouch Jr. They stumble towards the Headmaster's office afterward, Harry’s hand still wrapped around hers. Sirius drags both of them into a spine crushing hug. She follows Harry to the hospital wing, curling up in the armchair while he's forced into a bed to have his injuries examined. They're both given a sleeping potion.

Hermione shudders in horror as Harry whispers what happened in the graveyard. Her heart clenches when he tells her about Lucius Malfoy. The strained, sickened look on his face whenever Voldemort wasn't watching. "It's makes you wonder how many of them don't want to be there," she yawns. "How many of them were forced into it?"

"You think so?"

"I do. Fear doesn't inspire much loyalty." They drift into silence, and she listens as Harry’s breathing evens out into sleep. Hermione curls tighter into herself, fingertips pressed against her mouth in memory of that kiss. Please, Lucius. Make the right choice.

                                             ~

Two days before they're set to leave, the same cream and gold owl drops a package in front of her dinner plate, grabbing a chunk of roast and flying off. A tiny scroll reads, "open alone," the words vanishing as soon as she reads them.

"What's that," Ron asks, fork halfway to his mouth.

"Just a book I ordered." She lingers for a few more minutes, then excuses herself to go pack. Climbing into the four post bed, Hermione seals the curtains with a quick charm. Unwrapped, the book bears the title, Art of Minds: A Guide to Memory Modification and Erasure. She sucks in a harsh breath. There's a folded sheet of parchment tucked neatly behind the cover.

Hermione,

By now, you surely know the events which took place that night. This is a warning. You and your family will be targeted moving forward. Both as a result of your association with young Potter and your believed status as a Muggle-born. Hide them, and quickly. The further away from Britain they are, the safer they will be. If I thought I had any hope of convincing you, I would encourage you to go with them. Alas, I know you will refuse. You may be mis-sorted, but you're still too much of an honorable Gryffindor to run from a fight. Instead, I will implore you to be careful and keep your wand with you at all times. It would also be greatly beneficial to have Black train you in both wandless and family magics. The Black family's application of Hexfire is especially useful in combat.

I will leave you with one final caution. Dumbledore is a Legilimens. This allows him to read your thoughts, memories, and emotions. The ability is strongest when direct eye contact is maintained. I suggest you study the book on Occlumency I sent throughly. His reaction to knowledge of our contact is unlikely to be pleasant.

Be safe, little hellcat.

The moment she finishes reading, the parchment erupts into heatless green flame, devouring it entirely. The book remains untouched, and she swiftly enchants it to appear only as a dry text on Ancient Runes. Hermione opens the book at war with herself. If her parents are in danger, she has to protect them. But the thought of sending them away, of taking their memories, makes her sick.

What is she going to do?

                                              ~

                       
Aside from getting to show off her capture of Rita Skeeter and watching Harry, Ron, and the twins hex Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle unconscious, the train ride back to London feels strangely anticlimactic. She's folded his cloak at the bottom of her trunk, under her dress robes and away from prying eyes. They all share tight hugs after getting off the train. She makes Harry promise to write and swears to do the same.

Hermione gives the Dursleys her best cold glare as Harry shuffles miserably over to join them. His uncle looks like a walrus, mustache, and all. She lets her parents wrap her in their arms and feels her resolve harden.

                                            ~

Lucius watches her from across the platform. Their eyes meet as she embraces her mother, and she nods, face set with grim determination. He wants to grab her, pull her to him, keep her SAFE. But he can't. At least not yet. But he will.

Chapter Text

Hermione gives herself 14 days. Two weeks to study the book, memorizing every word, every spell. Two weeks to plan, running Arithmancy equations to calculate the best outcome. Two weeks to pour all of her love into Helen and Thomas Granger, crying herself to sleep each night wracked with guilt. Ron has already confirmed she can come to the Burrow, never once questioning the lie that her parents are taking a ski trip without her. The letters she's sent to Harry go unanswered, leaving her nerves even more wretched.

On the last night, she packs everything she can in her expanded trunk. The rest she drags to the dumpster down the street. No trace of her existence can remain. The morning of day 15, Hermione convinces them to take her to Diagon Alley for next year's book list. When asked about the missing photographs, she lies with painful ease. She claims she's been practicing wandless magic and plans to make the glass unbreakable. A project, she tells them, a way to challenge herself. The shrinking charm she placed on the trunk before leaving Hogwarts requires no discernable magic to activate. It slips easily into her pocket, but the weight is like a stone made of guilt.

They park a few blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron. It should be close enough to constantly active magic that the trace will overlook her. The spell requires no words, only her will, her intent. Hermione bites back a sob and raises her wand while her parents discuss toothpaste in the front seat. She takes the memory of herself first, erasing every aspect of her from their lives. Then, she begins the compulsion to leave England. When she was 5, they'd visited Australia and her parents had fallen for the warm climate and wildlife. She weaves a dream of starting a new dental practice in Sydney. A grand adventure for a childless couple seeking excitement, a new beginning.

Hermione slips quietly out of the back seat, heart shattering into a thousand tiny pieces she's sure will never be whole again. By the time she's made it behind the Leaky Cauldron, tears are streaming down her face in an endless flood. She crouches down, tucking herself behind a broken section of brick. Bile races up her throat, and she vomits onto the pavement. By now, her parents are driving themselves home to pack for Australia, unaware they ever had a child. Even stillborn Hera Jean was stripped from them. Just to be safe.

It takes a good 30 minutes for her hands to stop shaking enough to tap the bricks with her wand. Ron has promised to meet her tomorrow at noon, so she pays for a single night at the Cauldron before claiming a room. Inside, she switches from jeans to robes, splashing water on her face to hide the redness. The robes are an indigo blend of silk and cotton, with tiny mother of pearl buttons that stop in the hollow of her throat. On impulse, Hermione pulls a plum lipstick from her bag, painting her mouth before twisting her curls into a messy bun. There. She looks less like her normal self and more like any other witch browsing Diagon Alley.

A few deep, steadying breaths, and she's ready for Gringotts.

                                            ~

The bank's marble hallway seems to echo loudly under the heels of Hermione's boots. She walks in with her back straight, chin parallel to the floor, taking her place in line.

"Next," calls the goblin at the archway in front of her.

"I wish to speak with Gripclaw," Hermione tells him, dipping a quick curtsy and pulling everything she's read about goblins to the forefront of her mind.

The creature narrows its eyes. "Name?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Through the door on your right."

She gives a respectful nod of her head. "May your vaults ever be full."

The answering grin is all sharp teeth. "And your enemies stricken from wealth," he replies.

When Hermione steps through the door, a goblin with dark eyes is waiting. Three fingers are missing on his left hand, giving it a clawed appearance and a shallow scar traces across his forehead. She gives another shallow curtsy. He responds with half a bow. "The witch called Granger will follow Gripclaw."

They wind through a short, twisted hallway before Gripclaw ushers her into an office. A single sheet of vellum lays on top of the desk. It reflects with strange flashes of iridescence every time the light shifts. She sits in the chair only after Gripclaw takes his own. "I seek an inheritance Test," she says clearly.

"Gripclaw will need the witch's blood."

Hermione lays her hand, palm up, over the desk. The goblin pulls a small, silver blade from his belt and hisses something in Gobbledegook. A pale violet mist envelopes the knife, and he slices across her palm. "Turn your hand," he instructs.

She does. Blood pools onto the paper. The iridescent sheen flares brighter, and words begin to form.

Astra Hermione Black writes itself at the bottom of the page. The blood moves up, forming more names. Calliope Lyra Kakistos appears to the upper right, Regulus Arcturus Black, following to the left. Hermione watches it unfold. The Black family tree on the left, more Greek names to the right. Her breath stops when she sees the name next to her birth father's. Sirius Black is her uncle.

"Be welcome at Gringotts, Heiress Black."

                                            ~

Gripclaw has called for tea, and Hermione is hanging on to sanity by the skin of her teeth.

"May I ask how I can be considered the Black heir when Sirius Black still lives," she questions, voice forcibly calm.

"Sirius Black was stripped of his inheritance, not to mention imprisoned," Gripclaw answers, the dainty china cup looking absurd in his gnarled hands. "The line of inheritance runs through Regulus Black. You are his daughter."

He pushes a small, black velvet box across the desk. Hermione opens it, revealing a slender silver ring with the Black family crest. She swallows and slides it onto her shaking fingers. Maybe she can give it back to Sirius when she sees him next?

"Does Heiress Black seek the glamour on her removed as well?"

"What!?"

                                              ~

Gripclaw leads her deeper into the winding corridors. A room opens to her left. The walls are covered in Runes she doesn't recognize. There's an unusual pattern carved into the floor. In the center of that pattern stands a female goblin, face wise and near translucent with age.

"Come forward, daughter Black," she calls. "Let us see who you are under the meddling of foolish wizards."

Hermione steps forward, hands clenched to hide her fear. The goblin elder brushes cold fingers over her face. "Sit, child. This will take time."

She drifts into a sort of trace, lulled by the elder's ritual chant and song. Distantly, she can feel gentle hands plucking at the strings of her magic, but it soothes instead of frightening her. In the back of her mind, that odd, discordant note softens. Something inside of her cries out for its match.

When she finally comes back to herself, Hermione feels tired but somehow more real than she has in months. The tightness of her skin has eased. The tension in her spine has softened. The echo of a missing piece remains.

There's a mirror on the far wall. Hermione walks towards it. Her face hasn't changed much, other than the slight sharpening of her bone structure, a tiny rise of her cheekbones. Her hair, however, has darkened considerably, going from golden brown to coffee colored. There's still some frizz, but most of it has curled into smoother ringlets. It's the eyes that startle her, shifting from amber brown to whiskey gold. The same dusting of freckles covers her nose.

Hermione clears her throat carefully. "Is there a way to make the changes less noticeable? Just so whoever did this doesn't realize I've figured it out?"

That, as it turns out, is quite simple. The elder ties it to the ring now sitting on the smallest finger of her left hand. This new glamour will fade over the next 12 months to her real appearance and disappear entirely upon removing the signet. "You are most fortunate, Daughter Black," the aged goblin tells her grimly.

"H- how so." She's quickly approaching exhaustion, limbs heavy and trembling.

The elder snarls, flashing pointed teeth. "Glamour requires a delicate hand. This was done with speed and power, not time and finesse. The foundations were laid in your magic instead of your body, likely intended to make the changes permanent. It caused great strain and risked leaving your magical core broken. It is due only to luck that you magic and life did not fade over time."

Hot fury sings through her. "I could have died!? Or been turned into a squib!?" Hermione snarls. "Who the fuck did this to me?"

"This one does not know. It is gone now. The one replacing it is goblin woven illusion rather than physical change. Any remaining damage will heal," the elder reassures her.

Gripclaw returns her to his office to go over the Black family accounts. Alarmingly, they are now her responsibility, due to Sirius still being considered a criminal and therefore not allowed to manage the family holdings. It's takes 3 cups of strong black tea for the trembling to ease and her mind to clear enough to focus on the numbers. She spends the next two hours being advised on which accounts to invest in and what others to withdraw. There are, apparently, now millions of gallons to her name.

Hermione doesn't need a break so much as a quiet place to have a complete nervous breakdown.

                                             ~

The streets are a blur as she wanders back to the Leaky Cauldron in a daze. Her feet drag on the stairs, mind racing and overwhelmed. She stumbles into her room, wanting nothing more than to collapse on her rented mattress and scream into a pillow until she passes out.

Except there's a man sitting on her bed.

Everything rushes back in a split second. Her throat closes like a fist. Hermione breaks. A sob rips its way out of her chest, and tears flood her eyes before streaming endlessly down her face. Strong hands catch her just before her knees give way, arms pulling her into his broad chest. Lucius lifts her easily, sitting them on the bed with her tucked against him as her tears soak his shirt. They remain that way for a long time, his hand stroking her spine and lips pressed to her hair. Eventually, the crying slows enough that she can speak.

"I sent them away." Her voice is a trembling whisper. "I took their memories and made them leave."

Lucius pulls a hankerchief from his coat pocket and gently wipes her face. "You did what was necessary to keep them safe." His other hand lifts to cup the back of her neck. "I'm sorry. There are too many who would gladly kill them to curry favor or simply to hurt Potter through you." He sets the wet fabric down on the bedside table, taking her hand in his and raising it to press a kiss onto her recently healed palm

Her lashes are wet, eyes glassy. "You don't seem happy that he's back."

His mouth pulls into a thin line. "I am not."

Hermione hides her face in the hollow of his throat. "Were... were you really under the Imperius curse during the war?," she asks, feeling him shiver slightly when her lips brush his skin.

Lucius sighs. "To some extent. Particularly when I was forced to steal information from the Ministry. Mostly I was bound by threats of violence. Promises of a slow, painful death for Draco, myself, anyone I cared for. My father was the family's enthusiastic supporter and one of his first so-called knights. As a child, it was made very clear that I was expected to follow in his footsteps, even after things started becoming much more violent during my school years."

"The books say it started as just politics," she says, settling more comfortably against him.

His thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of her hand. "It did. In the beginning, he was quite reasonable. Tightening the Statute of Secrecy, preserving our culture, introducing Muggle-born children to the magic world sooner and having them educated properly, so they grew up as wizards and witches instead of acting like Muggles with magic."

That is reasonable. Hermione is surprised to find she actually agrees with everything he listed. Gods know how hard it was over the last 4 years. Constantly searching for books on tradition and etiquette, begging Purebloods like Neville for information on the brand new culture she'd been thrown into without any sort of guide. "What happened?"

Another sigh. "I'm not entirely sure," he responds. "I know there was pressure, from my father and others, to elevate Pureblood families further, make the Sacred 28 the automatic leaders of our world. Some time around my 4th year, he just went insane. There had been a few attacks on Muggles before then, but only by certain followers, and always framed as revenge for the witch hunts. Suddenly, he was leading the charge, and everyone was expected to participate in the supposed 'fun.' It was treated like sport."

A tiny gag escapes her throat, and Lucius holds her tighter. "That is when it turned into an open war. He began torturing his own followers regularly, killing them for minor offenses or failures. Dumbledore formed the Order of the Phoenix, and everyone became a target. I was forced to take the mark the day I turned 17."

"Can I see it?"

He hesitates, then pulls away to remove the long overcoat. Undoing his cufflink, he slowly rolls up his left sleeve and looks down at the mark with disgust. The skull and serpent are inky black against his pale skin. Hermione covers it gently with her hand. "I'm sorry." He doesn't respond, just rests his forehead against her own. His lips are so close to hers. If he leaned forward just a little...

And then he does. His hand returns to the back of her neck, holding her in place to join their mouths. She gasps, and he takes advantage of it immediately, sliding his tongue between her parted lips. Hermione lets out a soft moan when he drags her into his lap. Her knees dig into the bedding on the outside of his thighs. This is what she needs. Not sleep, not screaming into the void. Just the heat of his body on hers, the all-consuming fire of his kiss.

Lucius sucks at her bottom lip before catching it with his teeth and pulling a whimper from her. Distracted, it takes Hermione a moment to realize he's slipping the signet ring off her finger. "I want to see the real you," he whispers and nipping at her jawline. He pulls back for a moment to look at her properly. "Beautiful." Then his lips are at her throat, kissing his way down.

He bites softly on the side of her neck. It sends fire flickering through her veins, and without thinking, she grinds her hips on his. The response is instant. Lucius grabs her waist, rocking the hard length of him against her. She cries out and sinks her fingers into his hair to join their mouths once more. Her knickers are soaked through. "So wet for me," he groans. She whines into his mouth in answer.

Pleasure coils low and tight in her stomach. Their hips move in sync, faster, harder. Lucius bites the same spot, teeth sinking a little deeper this time. She shatters with a cry, core clenching. He follows quickly. The growl he releases echoes in her bones and sends shivers racing her spine. They sag into each other before he lays them down on the bed.

"Can you stay?" Her voice is soft in the silence.

"Not long," he replies, kissing her brow in apology. Hermione tucks her head under his chin. "Tell me about Gringotts."

She burrows deeper into his arms. "My name... my name is Astra Hermione Black." The feeling of his lips pressed against her hair grounds her enough to continue. "My father's name was Regulus Black, and my  mother was Calliope Kakistos." She laughs half hysterically. "Apparently, I'm also the Black family heir." He stiffens slightly in surprise. "Not what you expected? she asks.

"I thought you likely to be an illegitimate daughter of Sirius Black, considering how... indiscriminate he was in his youth. You have your mother's eyes."

"You knew her?"

"Not well. She was a Ravenclaw prefect a year below me. Your intelligence comes from her as well. She always had the top marks for her year. Regulus looked at her like she was the North star. Black would be able to tell you more about her."

She nods into his shoulder. "I don't know how to feel about any of this," she confesses.

"You don't need to figure it out right now. Just take it a day at a time, little one." His reassurance is soothing and eventually she falls asleep to the sound of his steady breathing.

When Hermione wakes, he's already gone.

Chapter Text

Everything feels strange the next morning. Maybe it's a side effect of the glamour being unwoven from her magic, but suddenly Hermione can smell everyone around her. It's mostly a faint whiff or something or other, with a few exceptions that read loud and clear. The waitress who brings her tea puts off the aroma of lemons and apple mint. An older man at the bar reeks of sandalwood and sage. She finds herself wondering what her scent is. Lucius would know. He seems to enjoy pressing his face against her hair and nuzzling into that spot on her neck. It throbs at the memory. The inside of her wrists echoes the sensation.

When Ron eventually shows up with his mother and eldest brother, nearly an hour late, she picks up Bill's notes of oak and amber from 4 meters away. He gives her an oddly speculative look.

Mrs. Weasley hustles them out the door with quick efficiency.

"Ron, have you heard from Harry? He hasn't written back to me yet."

He fidgets uncomfortably. "Err... well. Dumbledore said not to send him anything, so..."

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione snaps, wincing a bit at how shrill the last word came out.

"Not here," Bill mutters as they make their way to an apparition point.

She huffs but remains silent. Poor Harry must be going completely spare. She wonders if he's even received her post.

"Have you ever done side along, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asks.

"No, just the Portkey for the Quidditch cup."

Ron snorts. "Bit rougher than that, yeah." His warning does nothing to dispel her nerves.

Mrs. Weasley shoots her youngest son a look. "Well, you just hold onto Bill there. I'll take Ronald."

Hermione does as instructed, looping her arm through Bill's. It's like being squeezed through a tube and hit over the head with a frying pan before getting spat out onto shaking legs. Only her grip on Bill keeps her from smashing her face into the ground. Calling that 'a bit rougher' is quite the understatement. The nausea lingers for a long moment, and she sways slightly on her feet.

"Please tell me that apparating by yourself is easier," she almost begs.

Bill laughs. "Much. There's far less vertigo."

They're standing behind a copse of trees shading a run down street, surrounded by tall, narrow houses. Mrs. Weasley presses a scrap of parchment into her hand. "You'll need to read this first." She unrolls the paper. A single sentence is written there in large, looping script.

'Headquarters is located at 12 Grimmauld Place.'

When Hermione glances back up, there's a new house shoving its way forward from out between numbers 11 and 13. Worn steps lead up to the front, and a large silver knocker hangs on the door, shaped like a coiled serpent, and Mrs. Weasley waves her wand at the door to open it. They step into a long entry hall lit with flickering gas lamps. Wards brush against her magic. Most feel neutral, but several carry a darker tone. The sense of hostility stops abruptly, and they start humming almost happily in time with her heartbeat.

A dusty chandelier hangs overhead. Ahead of them lies a sweeping staircase with.... Hermione’s jaw drops, mouth agape. On the wall leading up the stairs, there are severed, shrunken heads, each belonging to a deceased house elf and all unceremoniously nailed to a plaque.

"Ron," she growls, fighting to keep her voice even, "where the fuck are we?"

                                                ~

After an explanation that doesn't answer any of her very important questions (like 'what' and 'the fuck,') Hermione sits on the edge of her bed in the room she'll share with Ginny, face buried in her hands. THIS is where her birth father grew up? She appreciates being informed by Ron that Sirius said they weren't there until he came back, but her newly discovered paternal grandmother was, clearly, a psychopath. If Lucius has a single severed elf head in his house, much less mounted on the wall, she's going to hex him. A lot. She collapses back onto the bed with a groan. This can not be her life.

She lays there for an hour, trying to figure out if she should tell Sirius about the whole 'turns out I'm your niece' thing. She desperately wants to know more about Regulus and Calliope but dreads the idea of anyone else finding out yet. Announcing it to the world is the last thing she needs right now.

Hermione still doesn't know exactly what's happening between her and Lucius Malfoy. There's something... inevitable about the way they circle each other. The way he draws her like a magnet to iron. Then there's the fact that she has no idea who set the glamour and spelled the Grangers into thinking she was their biological daughter after the death of baby Hera. With her actual date of birth being September 9th, she'd been barely more than a week old. Dumbledore has to be involved somehow, considering the altered information in the Book of Names at Hogwarts.

Finding out how her birth parents died is the first step. With any luck, maybe she'll be able to corner Sirius after the Order meeting she plans on forcing her way into.

                                             ~

When the plates are cleared from dinner, Hermione flat out refuses to move from the kitchen table. Mrs. Weasley finally demands that she leave. Hermione simply gives her a polite smile and says, "No." The Weasley parents seem to falter at that, while Sirius hides a grin in his teacup. Ron and the twins are staring at her in stunned awe. By this point, the Order members have begun crowding into the doorway. She sees Remus Lupin standing in front of Professor Snape, who has the same woman next to him from the Headmaster's office before the tournament lake fiasco. Both appear amused. Professor McGonagall and several people she doesn't recognize bring up the rear.

"We're just waiting on Albus," a tall Black man tells them. His face turns confused when he notices the younger group.

Mrs. Weasley doesn't reply to him, locked in her battle of wills against Hermione. "Young lady, you will leave this room at once!"

"Considering that my life is actively in danger as a result of a madman coming back from the near dead, hellbent  on world domination and the murder of my family and friends, I think have have every right to be involved." Silence. "I'm not leaving."

Steam is practically pouring out of Molly Weasley's ears, and she looks to be on the verge of physically removing Hermione from the room. "If that's the attitude you're going to take with me, missy, then you can go pack your things and -"

Sirius cuts her off quickly. "This isn't your house, Molly," he points out. "This is my house, and Hermione is welcome to stay as long as she likes. This affects all of them. They deserve to know what's going on."

"They're children!"

"They're TARGETS," Snape informs her from the doorway, drawing an offended gasp from Mrs. Weasley.

"Being ignorant won't keep them safe," Niamh agrees at his side.

"Ginerva, boys. Go to your rooms!"

"But -" The twin's protest dies when she whips around to face them. Ron gives Hermione a sulky glare as they exit the kitchen. His mother stomps over to the sink, banging dishes while Mr. Weasley tries to calm her down.

The seats at the table start to fill. Sirius points out the people she doesn't know. "Kingsley Shackelbolt." The tall, dark skinned man who'd mentioned waiting for Dumbledore. "Nymphadora Tonks." Friendly faced auror with pink hair. "Mugundus Fletcher, don't trust. " Shifty looking, reeks like a drunk. "Niamh Rioghan." The woman next to Professor Snape, all vanilla extract laced with notes of burnt sugar.

                                              ~

With some persuading and the support of Sirius, Snape (both of whom seem a bit sick at sharing an opinion) Lupin, Niamh, and Tonks, Dumbledore eventually allows her to remain after his arrival. He does, however, ask her promise not to share anything with Harry or the others without his express permission. She pretends to agree, gaze kept firmly on the man's nose instead of meeting his eyes. Her Occlumency shields are rudimentary, so Hermione takes care to focus on anything but Harry, Lucius, or her heritage while the Headmaster's attention stays on her.

The meeting is short but contains very little good news. They suspect Voldemort has plans to break his more fanatical followers out of Azkaban. The Ministry is keeping its metaphorical head buried in the sand with pathetic desperation, so all attempts at warning them are being dismissed. Apparently, two different character assassination articles against Harry have been run in the Daily Prophet since the end of June. Hermione finds herself grateful that Skeeter is still trapped in the jar in her trunk. There's already been an attack on an isolated Muggle village in Northumberland, no survivors. Shackelbolt mentions that the "other spy" has yet to provide any new information.

"Is there anyone else who might be willing to turn," Hermione hears herself ask.

Tonks shakes her head. "They know it's a death sentence, don't they. And not just for themselves."

"We're having to rely on assets we worked with last time," Shackelbolt agrees. "We can't risk the two we have making overtures." She supposes that makes sense, although referring to people as 'assets' feels uncomfortable.

Dumbledore stands quite suddenly. "All right, Miss Granger, I think that's enough for tonight. Up to bed with you."

Hermione suppresses a scowl. She still hasn't learned anything about their plans or how Voldemort can be destroyed. Patience, she reminds herself. "Of course," she says, calm smile fixed in place. "Have a good evening." Dumbledore does try to catch her eyes again as she leaves, but she manages to avoid his gaze with a fake yawn.

                                              ~

There are four ears sitting on the top stair, each one connected to a long, fleshy rope. The boys and Ginny are hiding behind the doorframe, all with the connecting rope that ends in another ear pressed to their own. Hermione raises her eyebrow in question.

"Extendable ears," brags George.

Fred grins proudly. "Our brand new invention."

"How much did you hear?" Hermione has no intention of telling on them. Plus, it saves her the trouble of having to refuse to share with Ron. Merlin knows he won't be able to keep his mouth shut.

Ginny scoffs. "Just that the Ministry is still a bunch of bleeding idiots."

"No argument there," she tells her. They head up to the rooms, Hermione wincing when she passes by the wall of heads. Maybe she can convince someone to let her bury them.

"Well, come on then. Tells us what they said," Ron demands as soon as they reach the room.

Here we go, Hermione thinks. "I promised Dumbledore I wouldn't say anything yet."

As predicted, Ron explodes. The argument lasts a good half hour, only ending when Hermione points out that he basically made the same promise in regards to not writing Harry. He ends up storming to his room. It's not that she cares about breaking her word to a man who likely had her stolen from the cradle, but she knows Ron will end up blabbing and she'll get kicked out of the small part of the meetings she is allowed to join. Fred and George eventually leave as well. Ginny, however, can keep a secret, so she fills her in with quiet whispers after she feeds Crookshanks, and they've gotten into bed.

"That's hardly any information," Ginny complains.

"I know," Hermione replies with an irritable sigh. She turns onto her back, waiting for the other girl to fall asleep, staring at the ceiling while Crookshanks purrs curled up at her side.

                                           ~

Tucked neatly out of sight on the second floor landing, Hermione watches the last person leave the house once the meeting is over. Remus Lupin turns back to the kitchen where Mr and Mrs. Weasley must still be, while Sirius steps through a pair of intricately carved double wooden doors. Hermione follows, placing her stocking feet carefully on the old stairs to avoid making any sounds that might give her away. She creeps past the curtain covered portrait Ginny had warned her about, dizzy with relief when it remains silent. Then she slips through the double doors and pauses for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room.

It's a library. Large enough that the room must be expanded with magic. Her fingers itch to open the books. This is definitely where she's going to spend most of her time until September 1st. There must be thousands of books here that she'd never find at Hogwarts. Being told she's the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had been terrifying, but this certainly helps make up for it.

Turning a row, she sees Sirius slumped in a worn, green velvet armchair. There's a bottle of firewhisky on the table and an almost empty glass in his hand. She increases the noise of her footsteps to make sure he hears her coming. After 12 years in Azkaban, it's understandable that his reaction to being started isn't a good one. He looks up, clearly surprised that it's her.

"Hey Hermione. What are you doing down here?"

She sits down in the chair across from his and tries to steady herself.

"What's wrong," he asks, pouring more firewhisky into his glass.

"The Granger's,  my mum and dad, always told me I was born at St. Mary's Hospital, but they don't have a single record of me there. What they do have is one for a Hera Jean Granger, who was stillborn on September 19th 1979. There are pictures of me starting on the 20th of that September. Which means someone took me from my birth parents before I was even 2 weeks old and altered the Grangers' memories to make them believe I was the baby they lost." There's a tremor starting in her hands, rage and sorrow vibrating through her body.

His eyes are wide with shock, confusion. Sirius takes a large gulp of his drink before conjuring up a second glass and pouring her a small amount of the alcohol. "You look like you need this," he says, pushing it towards her. "Merlin, Morgana, and Nimue, kid. You need to get to Gringotts."

"I already went."

He leans forward eagerly. "And?"

For a long moment, Hermione just stares into her whiskey. Then she swallows the whole thing, grimacing a bit at the burn. She grips the glass like a lifeline. "My name... my real name is Astra Hermione Black." She cancels the illusion on the signet ring and pulls it off.

Sirius inhales sharply. It echoes in the quiet room. "And your parents?" His voice is strained.

She looks back up, eyes now blazing amber. "My mother was Calliope Lyra Kakistos. My father... was Regulus Arcturus Black."

He makes a pained noise, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. When he opens them, his lashes are wet. His throat works as he tries to speak. "You're Reggie's girl? My brother has a daughter?" Sirius moves around the table in two quick strides before yanking her into a hug. His body jerks like he's trying not to sob. "I don't understand? Why put you with Muggles? Andy would have taken you in a heartbeat." He pulls back to take her face in both hands. "You look even more like them now. What was it? A glamour or something?"

Hermione nods. "The goblins said it was tied into my magic. That I was lucky not to end up dead or a squib."

The expression on his face turns to fury. "I WILL find out who did this to you," Sirius promises.

"Can you... can we keep this between us for now? Someone went through a lot of trouble to hide me, and I'm worried about what they might do if they find out I know. Even Ron. And Harry, at least for now."

"That's smart thinking Hermi- Astra."

She smiles. "Hermione, please. It's what I'm used to, and it's still my name." Then, in a softer voice. "Could... could you tell me about them?"

Sirius hugs her again. "Everything I know."

                                           ~

Kreacher has spent years broken with regret and the weight of his failure. He's spent months full of bitter anger at Master's older brother, who dares to show back up here now when he wasn't there to protect Master Regulus or his wife and child. But now, hiding behind a shelf in the library, he weeps. The little star lives. She has returned to the House of Black. They have a Lady again. Kreacher has a true Mistress to serve once more.

                                              ~

Hermione learns that her father loved poetry, Wizarding and Muggle. That he read Sylvia Plath and Edna St. Vincent Millay, but hid the books from his parents. His wand was Hawthorn and Phoenix feather, 11 3/4 inches, talented at transfiguration but miserable at potions. He played classical music while he studied and hated aubergines. His favorite color was blue. He died defecting from Voldemort, vanishing only 7 days after her birth.

Like Hermione, her mother loved dancing. She was the only child of a squib from Greece and a Muggle woman from London. Her talents had been Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. She made study schedules for everyone she knew and treated every single person with kindness, no matter what house they were Sorted into. But it's when Hermione asks what happened to her that Sirius can't quite meet her eyes.

"Calliope was a researcher," he says. ""She specialized in figuring out obscure and ancient magics. She never discriminated between Dark and Light. Her judgements were based in how the magic was used, not where it came from. The Order got a tip from someone that she was doing research for the Death Eaters. They knew she had a baby, but I never heard anything about your father or thought a child would get hurt. If I had I would have gone alone. I swear. On September 17th, Moody led a team of 3 other people, Fabian Prewett and Frank and Alice Longbottom. They claim Calliope was practicing Dark magic and attacked first, then set off Fiendfyre that consumed the entire cottage. Both of you were pronounced dead."

The news hits Hermione like a punch to her gut. How many cases has she read about when looking into the war that were almost identical? How many innocent people from Dark or Neutral families had been murdered because because the Aurors chose to kill first and ask questions after? The names Longbottom, Prewett, and Moody had been on a lot of those files. It's horrifying. "That seems to have been a common occurrence, " she tells him.

Sirius looks regretful, pained. "Yeah, it was," he admits. "Things were escalating pretty rapidly towards the end of the war. A lot of people started focusing more on revenge than justice."

Her hands form fists at her sides. "So Moody's the only person still alive who was there that night?"

"Dumbledore's would know as well, but there's no way he's not involved since your name was listed as Granger on your Hogwarts letter."

She nods her agreement. "I'm beginning to worry about what exactly he wants from Harry, too."

Sirius leans closer and drops his voice to a low whisper. "James told me they were set into hiding over a prophecy. That Harry was in danger from it."

Great, more divination nonsense. "Do you know it?" she whispers back.

"No. And I don't think James or Lily did either."

Hermione scowls. It seems like everyone is being kept in the dark. "Too bad no one here can read Dumbledore's mind," she mutters bitterly. She needs to talk all of this through with Lucius. See if he has any more information. Or advice on how to get said information. She also needs to figure out exactly what her mother was researching. All of this screams conspiracy. Unfortunately for Dumbledore, she's always been rather good at unraveling secrets