Chapter Text
Dusk’s orange hue darkened as day slowly bled into night and the warmth of the sun made way for the cooler southern winds. Underneath this setting sky, a lone teenager continued her daily exercise; performing a set of gymnastic acrobatics and dance. Sweat beads down her forehead as she breathed tiredly after the final landing.
The sound of applause echoed through the room as the youth looked over to see her grandmother smiling contently as she clapped slowly.
“Well done mon petite,” the old woman stated.
“Grandmere, I'm an adult; you don’t need to use that nickname anymore.” Fleur sighed.
“You will always be my little flower,” her grandmother replied with a knowing smile. “I don’t care how tall or how independent you young ones grow. I’ll still whack you with my cane if need arises.” She took her time easing into a chair, eyes locked on her grandchild’s form.
“Now come, have a rest and wipe your sweat off before you catch a cold.”
“A Veela? Getting a cold in summer? Impossible.” Fleur all but snorted.
“Well some do say only fools catch colds in summer, and you would not want to be considered a fool,” the old woman tapped her grandchild on the nose lightly.
Fleur wiped her face with a towel after sitting on one of the various garden chairs decorating the space. “Merci for the towel and drink grandmere.”
She sighed, “You’re too formal for a child, is this your form of teenage rebellion?”
The young Veela blushed lightly, opening her mouth to protest but her words were cut off with a flick of the hand.
“Never mind it; I’ve handled more than my fair share of teenage angst. Your mother for example…”
“Grandmere!” Fleur exclaimed.
Dark blue orbs turned and pretended to look at something past the horizon, “Rebellions are odd things aren’t they?” Mutterings that seemingly came from nowhere always sounded so nostalgic or full of wisdom. “You know this reminds of another young woman our beloved foremother met. Of course, you would be surprised how some actions cause more benefits and consequences than we think. Feelings experienced during teenhood can warp and change into something unsightly.”
Fleur furrowed her eyebrows, “What do you mean Grandmere?”
“Oh my, did I never tell you? It’s a very short story; never did get all the details. So much of it happened behind closed doors. Anyway, it all started -”
Before her grandmother could even begin the sound of a bell called them to dinner and the two Veela looked at each other.
“How about we continue this over the dinner table, I'm sure your mother and sister would love to hear the story as well.”
And just like that the two entered the house, the smell of food wafting into the air as they joined their family for a meal.
~~~ - English Channel - ~~~
The young lady perused the crowd of travellers with a disconcerting eye.
Nobility, poised and sociable were waltzing around, displaying their usual wealth and status like a performing peacock in the garden of Eden. As if it mattered; Hermione wasn’t sure when she became so cynical or judgemental but why should she care. Life was fleeting, even for one who played time like a lyre.
The gathering was a performance more than a formal event. A way to pass time and showcase their adornments and enlarged ego to the masses. But no one present was near the standing of the infamous and striking image of Madam Bellavina Black; the most powerful noble woman in wizarding society. The young witch found only pity for those who dared try to stand tall in such an intimidating presence.
The pureblood woman oozed elegance and grace, defining the meaning of sophistication and high status. She was the perfect wife to a powerful wizarding husband, enriching mother to her beloved children and the aspiration of social circles everywhere. Pristinely adorned in a fierce ensemble of lace, silk and jewelled embroidery, the woman glided through the masses like a prophet amongst its followers.
The dark green dress, practically sculptured to her frame was the artistic centrepiece the pathetic excuse of a gathering needed. At least, the brunette thought so.
The evening’s queen allowed the gawking for a moment longer before moving on to places unknown.
It wasn’t everyday a domineering wizarding family was seen out of their estate, let alone on a journey to another land. France was no world away, but it was a significant distance nonetheless and a sighting of the entire Black Family together was a once in a lifetime experience for many lower class eyes.
A family trip; not that the common folk needed to know, was a rare but special occasion and a New Years celebration was such a time.
The young woman sighed under her breath. Another event, another loop, eternally imprisoned.
What was time, to a traveller like Hermione?
The teenager had jumped back and forth through history so much, she didn’t know what mattered or what to care about anymore. If anything at all. Nothing seemed to hold significance.
As the brunette celebrated a new age; another year of life had passed physically, the decorations and her surroundings became repetitive, bland and colourless; the cake arbitrary and fifteen burning candles a spec of light easily forgotten.
What Hermione wouldn’t give to have the familiar simplicities.
A momentary flicker; the sensation of absence and force of inertia pulled her inwards against the pull of gravity. Hermione braced against it for a second, the same lapse of time it took for her arm to materialise again. Over recent weeks, the magic kept pulling her body back and forth, yet never did the dust settle upon her skin. Sadly, she thought, no return home that day either.
As the softest tap pressed to her lips, a stumbled movement caught the brunette’s eye; the crimson feathered fan flourished with but the tiniest of wrist movements as a reaction.
It wouldn’t do for such melancholy to present across any noble lady’s face. Especially before a mere servant boy. Hermione was always mindful of her surroundings; especially dark watchful eyes.
The witch needn’t say a word. One of her higher status didn’t demean themselves to ‘the help’s’ level. He mumbled through what had to be a sentence or two; likely related to who sent him and the subject of retrieval from her hiding place.
Without removing the displayed fan, Hermione made her way past the prostrating male and returned to the vessel’s central hall.
For a steamboat, the international ferry was somewhat of a luxury for the mid 19th century. Then again, for the rich, nobility and magically gifted; anything could become a luxury with the right influence. The journey’s passing was deceived by a spontaneous ball, endless cuisine and soft classical orchestral music.
“Hermione, such an arrival as expected.” A firm but enchanting voice came from the woman standing near the archway. Her dark eyes traced the girl’s every movement. “If only Phineas could follow your example. You’ve had such a positive influence on the boy. Come now; we will land shortly.”
A near inconceivable flick of her wrist and the large, onyx stained feather fan flourished into place, leaving only the witch’s eyes seen. “And Black’s are never late.”
“Of course Madam,” the young woman fell into step just behind the matron as they moved through the crowded room; heads high, eyes forward and her hands neatly folded together against her front. “Black’s arrive at the exact moment they desire.”
A spec of an inclined edge to her lips as the elder woman spoke. “Well spoken dear. Do show everyone by example and keep my boy in line, won’t you?”
It wasn’t a request and one Hermione would fulfil wholeheartedly.
As the duo stepped through the open doorway, attending wait staff gave the ladies a deep bow; a mere passing to a lady of a powerful household. Hermione didn’t bat an eye, though she did notice the numerous looks that followed their every step.
Who wouldn’t want to be in close with the Blacks? Such a renowned house of the English nobility, it was both a privilege and a curse to walk in their wake. A truth Hermione had learned well in time spent under their roof.
By the time they were to disembark, the other members of the Black family had gathered. All finely dressed and waiting impressively patient. Hermione knew the woman wouldn’t allow her children to taint their well preserved image; even at the youngest age of seven years old.
“A carriage will be awaiting us.” Lycoris spoke in his deep baritone voice. Hermione’s initial fear of the dark, towering man had transitioned to wariness as months passed. A stern man with simple morals; but a dangerous wizard to cross should his anger shine through.
“Excellent. Hermione will sit with us. We’ve much to discuss.”
“Of course dear.”
Hermione’s perceptive gaze caught the dissatisfaction plaguing the face of one young male. It was becoming obvious as the days cycled how irked young Phineas became whenever the older witch was included but he wasn’t.
The spoiled boy never spoke up, but that didn’t mean the adults weren’t aware. If anything, Hermione knew better than anyone how keenly observant his parents were.
But the longer he acted like a child, the longer they’d treat him like one.
~~~ - England - 1857 - ~~~
The bustling atmosphere of the London streets were deafening to simple minded folk; a mass of dark and greyed coloured bodies, washed together like a smeared painting. The magical community was no exception, only their vibrancy was in their manner of attire.
All except one sharp minded woman.
She stood under a storefront sign, long slender fingers curled around the handle of her shade umbrella in careful and precise movements. A refined woman of wealth and prestige; humbly accepting the silent greetings from the passing citizens with but a tilt of her head.
At her side, the soft ramblings of an excited ten year old boy, for within the next year, was to attend Hogwarts.
If his mother allowed it so.
“Phineas, quiet now.” The witch spoke firmly, hand paused in movement as she focused solely on the figure across the street.
It was a lone brunette haired young woman, adorned in a socially acceptable dress, travel coat and hat along with a weathered bulky suitcase at her side. A tourist? No, the Madam didn’t believe it was that straight forward. The woman wasn’t wandering like the crowds. She was subtle, but deliberate in her actions; passing through without notice and as such, a beacon to Bellavina’s piercing eyes.
“But mother,” the boy pleaded with a longing gaze. He’d tried relentlessly to both appease and beg his mother to allow his attendance at Hogwarts’ upcoming year.
Ever since his brother’s premature death, neither Phineas or any of his siblings were allowed out of her sight or control. Bellavina was almost inconsolable for months; with her possessive paranoia and overprotectiveness almost suffocating, the pureblooded woman locked her family away from society for close to three years.
“Do not speak out.” She gave him a hardened glare. “You know better.”
“Yes mother.”
She needn’t grab his hand or arm to cross the busy street. He wasn’t a baby, nor incompetent but the mother did so anyway. If only to ensure he was practically glued at her side. Observant citizens of the alley stepped aside as they walked and within moments, the lady was within earshot of the strange young woman.
“Girl. You seem lost.”
The brunette raised her head, eyes curious but widened at the confrontation given by a stranger. Upon settling on her form, Bellavina saw something intriguing; the split second of recognition followed immediately by a subservient demeanour. Standard for any magical citizen, but it was without a key component. Fear.
“Oh! Madam, please excuse me!” She was immediately humble, lowered in form and persona. Adaptability and intellect, two vastly valuable things for a young woman to possess, especially in the day’s age. “I’m terribly sorry if I stood in your way; my deepest apologies. I’ll remove myself at once.”
The mother was finding more and more reason to ponder the brunette. There was no reason for the girl’s sudden departure; if anything it was clearly visible to any observing third party that the Madam Black traversed into the brunette’s path of travel. And yet, it was the youth who was intent to vacate the area hastily. Whatever the cause, the brunette didn’t wish to be caught up.
Curious indeed.
“Speak nothing of the sort, child. It was I who approached, therefore it would be rude to leave when you have not been dismissed.” Bellavina watched as her words sunk in. The young woman turned back with a slow acceptance and gently placed her suitcase down with nary a sound. A feather-light charm with no obvious ruins? Well well, it was ever more interesting.
“Please forgive my rudeness Madam. I regretfully have little experience in social interactions; my great grandfather is more a hermit than educator.” Her voice was meek, head forward slightly but otherwise her posture was strong, unrelenting; it almost brought a smile to Bellavina’s face.
The mother could read the girl like a book, and she was a stubborn one. Excellent.
“What family wouldn’t introduce their daughter by her ‘of age’ year?” Bellavina tilted her head ever so slightly, the thought passing but curious. Surely not a family in her immediate circle. No; perhaps a rural or northern family, an outcast group wouldn’t allow their unwed child among the streets without chaperone. Madam Black knew every family worth their salt, the girl standing before her was brimming with potential and none of the training.
The brunette shifted herself, a bout of nervousness coming from seemingly nowhere.
“Granger, Madam. I do beg your pardon but I dare not receive such an occasion; my parents have passed already and my great grandfather…as I said, he’s a hermit. If not for the house-elf, he’d forget to eat; the man cares not for anything but his potions and elixirs.”
“Potions?”
“Oh, yes Madam. Mister Hector Dagworth-Granger. The family residence is in the Highlands; near the coastline, Madam.” The girl once again closed in on herself for a moment, seemingly unsure if to continue further. “I’ve rarely ventured from the grounds; until today that is.”
That was a name the matriarch had heard before; perhaps in passing or a gentleman of some presteigne but enough for a woman like Bellavina to have heard of it. On her return to her estate, the woman would have an elf investigate further. This child was an anomaly; someone worth watching closely, a fire not yet sparked to life and Bellavina wasn’t captured by mere anyone.
Such a specimen and so delicately within her grasp.
“And how does a child of such a house come to stand on London’s busy streets?”
“I…I wished to see more…learn more. My family library could give me only so much.”
“Well child. You’re without a chaperone and I cannot allow such a young woman to wander the streets alone. You will stay at my residence while an owl will be sent to your guardian. Collect your luggage, we shall take a carriage.”
Phineas was obediently at her side, unseen and unspoken until the point when Bellavina turned about to await for the footman to pull the carriage to a halt at the curb. She needn’t see the girl pick up her suitcase, nor pay any attention to the tightness of the hand held in her own.
Madam Black didn’t pick up strays. She was an avid collector of finery though.
~~~ - Black Villa, France - New Years Eve - ~~~
Hermione’s fingers twitched once, twice before she snapped the fan closed as a means to conceal the mannerism.
Tension was in the air and not just from the witch’s hardened, deadly gaze. Elves were scattered throughout the manor, busy, focused and eager to fulfil the desires of not only their masters, but that of the teenage hostess too.
Decorations were placed precisely at her direction, glassware and silver spoons polished relentlessly that tiny fingers grew numb and every step Hermione took through the towering halls, harrowing silence followed.
The sun was barely crossing below the horizon and the young witch was dressed in a viciously intimidating crimson black ensemble. The dress straddled the line between conservative and coy with its mermaid skirt design found more commonly during Hermione’s original time with the lace intricacies popular among the nobility that surrounded her. The brunette’s hands were covered with black gloves complimenting the fan gripped tightly in hand.
An intimidating picturesque figure that would no doubt make another wardrobe change before the evening's festivities. As any true noble woman would.
It was the eve of the new year and Hermione was assisting her Madam in the biggest social event of the century. Pureblood families would travel half a continent to attend the Lady Black’s ball; one's life, and the very least, reputation, could be extinguished if fate’s hand dealt the participant against the Black family.
Plus, many had another motive to attend the highly anticipated event…
Hermione mentally listed off the confirmed attendees. A dozen would cross the channel from her homeland, but more importantly, the witch was interested in the foreign ones. Every family head would drag along their offspring or at the very least their heir apparent. The ratio between the young boys to girls would be vastly unbalanced but she was prepared for all situations.
What boys could resist adventuring about a strange property? The chance to destroy meaningless marble figurines, or torment any stray rodents that plagued the lawn. What young girl wouldn’t indulge in the intricate beauty, the enchanted gardens exuded on a glistening snow filled night?
Hermione rolled her eyes at the image of arrogant children who were so privileged, simply because of the house in which they were born. She mirthfully chuckled at the truth however; the brats had attained none of its worth in their short lives and would likely lose it within a generation.
“Madamoiselle Granger, the chefs request your presence in the kitchens…”
A figure at the corner of her eye revealed a young man dressed in a footman’s uniform, his posture bowed to the lowest angle and face strained to hold in the apparent fear.
Hermione didn’t care an ounce for his feelings, her reply, with nose ever so slightly raised, said as much.
“Did I not clearly state my requirements weeks ago? What else could they possibly waste my time with now? Or this is some ploy you’ve all concocted to test my last nerve.”
“It’s the hors’ d'oeuvres...there is a slight delay in the shipment of prawns.” The lad was sweating buckets and barely held onto his demeaning pose without submitting to her wrath completely.
Jaw tightening ever so slightly, the brunette’s eyes hardened. If she hadn’t the ingrained control of an olympian fighter, nor patience of a seafaring navigator, her fan would’ve snapped clean in two at receiving such news. “No one deemed it fit to tell me until the eve of the event?”
“They were just informed this morning, ma’am.”
Hermione spun around; skirt snapping about like a loyal dog at her heels, she stormed towards the kitchens. The footman vanished into the shadows to continue his duties and blessed the goddess above in keeping his head.
“Madamoiselle Granger!” The kitchen staff greeted as she entered the heated room, fumbling over themselves to show the hostess her righteous dues.
“Johan, what is this I heard about a delay?” She sharply sneered.
A chubby man ran over to her, head bowed. Johan had been in charge of the kitchen for well over two decades and had provided exceptional food to a number of delicate pureblooded palettes. But never had he faced such a challenge as impressing the young lady before him.
“There has been a slight delay in the delivery of the goods, Miss Granger,” Though bowed, his green eyes conveyed the unspoken words.
“And how long will the delay be? My guests will not be kept waiting.”
“A few hours, enough that we might need to swap around the aperitifs and hors’ d'oeuvres but not enough to affect the serving of the entree onwards.”
The young woman held in the urge to bite her thumb in frustration, closing her eyes to take a breath in. Restrain. Patience. Control. Hermione exhaled and snapped open her fan with a singular fluid motion to wave a dismissal. What remaining staff at attention made themselves busy or immediately scarce.
All but one.
“Have you informed Mariana of the changes?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Very well, send her to my room. I wish to speak with her about this in more detail.”
“Of course, Miss Granger. At your leave.”
Hermione shifted into a confident if intimidating pose. Fan covered her face slightly before closing it once more.
Lady Black stood next to her as they watched the guests arrive one after the other in an orderly fashion. The wizards adorned their best robes, ladies on their arms dressed to the nines in ball gowns that cost more than a factory worker could earn in multiple lifetimes.
Much like her guardian’s envious shade of green, Hermione was draped in the finest silk gown money could buy.
Off-shoulder cut traced her clavicle, a bodice engraved with embroidery and gemstones in a downward trail to border her thin waistline. Short translucent sleeves and elbow length gloves were enchanted to shower her frame in white sparkles, giving the illusion of fallen snow. It gave her already cold features an icy effect.
Although her skirt was far less flared than the muggle counterparts, it was a single canvas of striking colour that darkened the further it went; contrasting well with the white specs that vanished at her feet. The intricate blend of ultramarine blue, purple and black was nothing short of spectacular, not just any noble could afford such finery.
Gazing around the room, Hermione noted that chandeliers were shimmering in the light and not a hint of dust could be seen floating from them. The statues that were loaned by the museum showed the Greek Goddess of Magic, Hecate, showering her faithful with praise as it sat high overlooking the room.
Servers slowly patrolled the room, offering food and refreshment silently and with the utmost respect. Practiced servitude at its finest.
Hermione straightens herself; in a flash a tray holding a goblet appeared next to the two women held by a dark redheaded servant girl. Mariana.
Taking a sip to quench her thirst, as soon as the goblet returns to the tray, the child seemingly vanishes, leaving naught a trace in her wake.
“You have your servants well trained, impressive. Surprising, for such mudded blood.”
Hermione casts Lady Black a look, “But of course. Not just anyone can serve the Noble and Most Ancient House Black. I picked the finest of what I had on hand. So, unless they want to see themselves dragged through the mountainside on a broom by their legs, they will do as they’re told.”
Lady Black nodded firmly, the tiniest trace of a smirk on her lips as the duo let their eyes prowl the room.
The giant paintings that hung on the walls enjoyed the festivities themselves opening bottles of wines and drinking along with the guests. In fact, it seems like the portrait of Napoleon might have been having too much fun as he tried to walk over to the painting that housed Lady Velle and her pet dogs.
Music played smoothly from a podium, housing the charmed instruments and younger children were all luckily ushered to the back garden so as to not disturb the adults. Hermione wished that included one Phineas Black who kept staring at her in a frankly impolite manner. Sending out a wandless stinging jinx to his feet, Hermione turned no longer interested in paying the boy any mind.
“Lady Black, do pardon my rudeness; I'll have to excuse myself. I dare say, the Emperor has nearly found the courage or foolishness to enter Lady Velle’s frame. The last thing this party needs is her powerful lungs filling our ears.”
Lady Black’s frown was hidden behind her fan, but her eyes burned like a thousand suns. She spoke to Hermione in a low, hushed tone, “Imbécile! My husband should have burnt their paintings a decade ago. Both of them are more trouble than they’re worth; and considerably outdated.”
“Quite right my Lady, but of course, everyone wants to see a spectacle so long as they aren’t the ones making it.”
Derisive amusement flickered across the woman’s eyes for a split second, Hermione caught it and bowed towards her guardian. The witch then waved her off to handle the issue.
Walking towards the painting, Hermione cast a simple spell to stop the derogative Emperor of France from entering the painting and quickly made herself scarce in one of the hallways connecting to the ballroom.
“Disappearing from the party so soon; my, what would the guests say…” a low, sultry voice spoke up as a feminine figure appeared to walk beside her from the shadows.
“Merely having a breath of fresh air, Lady Selwyn.”
“From the looks of things, preparations for today have gone well.”
“They could have been better but we do what we must.”
“Very well then, as we agreed, I shall await the festivities.” The lady’s voice faded as she too returned to the darkness.
And with that Hermione was alone once more.
In the same moment, the witch froze in her path. Hands began to flicker in and out, left arm all the way to the shoulder soon joining as her ears were bombarded by the sound of a loud radio, blasting song after song in a relentless loop. Loud honking car horns and constant ringing in her ears, peoples conversations echo in her mind before suddenly -
Silence.
The young witch inhaled deeply, her face illuminated by the lights of the ballroom as she looked at the scene before her. The laughing purebloods that were occupying every space in the room like infectious spores in a forest. Men walking up to women, doing their little song and dance of pleasantries with eyes filled with lusting desire. Mothers selling their daughters to the highest bidder in the name of strengthening family ties. It made her s-
“Lady Hermione! So this is where you were,” Phineas Black exclaimed, excitement clear in his tone even subdued.
“Well, if it isn’t the Black heir, is there something you need Phineas?”
“Indeed,” a gleeful sparkle to the boy’s eye from just hearing his name upon the woman’s lips. “I was hoping you would join me for a dance.”
“I see…well, although we are at a ball, the first dance is quite a statement and not something that can be easily agreed upon.”
“Yes, but I am not just anybody either, Lady Granger.”
~~~ - Black Manor - January 1858 - ~~~
The Black manor was an ancient estate that housed many grand rooms and hallways. Any unaware soul could be lost within its enchanted walls for a lifetime and never seen again. Though, such ‘stories’ were childish fables told to sleepy children in their warm beds.
Phineas wasn’t a child anymore.
“Back straight. Eyes forward. Precisely like that, Hermione.”
The sharp but even tone of the boy’s mother echoed through the empty space. The brunette was dressed in a stylish blue robed dress with lace accents on the collar and fine threaded gold detailing outlining the sleeves; all complete with three leather bound books stacked atop her head.
“Thank you, Lady Black.” The young witch replied with a delighted tone. She was focused on the set path before her. Seven steps forward, a pivot using the balls of her feet and then back. All done with grace, feathered steps and a delicate soft smile. She’d been practising this posture for the past three weeks and it had to be perfect before the Lady’s next socialite ball.
“Now, you shall be seated between my son and the young Lord Travers. Across from you shall be other ladies your age. What is the proper etiquette when one wishes to engage in light conversation?”
Phineas rolled his eyes. He wasn’t even meant to be there but it was a boring afternoon with or without his lessons. He’d snuck into the grand ballroom after hearing his mother’s voice and was intrigued at her lesson. Why was she educating the stranger? His mother didn’t ‘teach’ anyone. She was Lady Black.
Wasn’t such things below her station?
“Forgive me Madam, but may I inquire on a small detail?” Hermione’s voice broke Phineas’ daydreaming. Talking back was never accepted within their home. He was almost excited to see what his mother would do.
The Lady of the House merely raised her chin to acknowledge the question. Upon seeing it, Hermione paused before she continued. “Am I attending this party as Miss Granger, or ward of Lady Black?”
There it was again!
The gleam in his mother’s dark eyes. The tiniest hint of a mirthfilled smirk in the corner of her lips. Something about this girl kept capturing his beloved mother’s interest and it was irksome! She wasn’t allowed it! That wasn’t her mother!
“Answer my question, child.” Lady Black spoke again, a haughty look overshadowed by her piercing gaze. A silent challenge toward the young witch. Hermione took a breath before she raised her chin, focused ahead and resumed her stride. Muscle memory.
“As a lady of the Black house, I shall only speak to those of my station. Lord Travers would offer more insightful conversation than any childish company I may be privy to. I’m to show the grace of house Black; not my youthful age.”
“Very good.” Bellavina glided across the floor to take away the books. She allowed the girl a moment of reprieve before she forced a straight back, lowered shoulders and folded hands at the waist.
“And when seated for a 12 course meal, which cutlery piece is to be used for the for the le plateau du fromage,” she questioned while the discarded literature was returned to the stack with a wave of magic.
“If the host finds it fit to have the table cleared after the second main course, then it would be the outermost fork on the right side of the plate. If not, then one would be able to find it above the plate once again at the outermost section.” Hermione’s tone was light but firm; stating not questioning.
Lady Black blinks in acknowledgement as the ringing of a grandfather clock calls from the main foyer. As to recognise it, the woman opened an intricately detailed silver pocket watch to confirm the hour. She then snapped it shut.
“We have worked till the lunch hour. Very well, I expect to see you in the library for your français lessons this afternoon. Do not be late.”
Without waiting for a confirmation, a verbal reply or anything else from the girl, Lady Black turned face and strolled from the room at a brisk pace. Phineas had to dash behind one of the many pillars to keep himself hidden.
It wouldn’t end well if his mother caught him spying on their private lessons. Once her footsteps had faded down the corridor, the boy waltzed into the room again with the swagger of a pureblooded heir.
Maybe the girl could entertain him for a bit. She wasn’t anything special; some lowly peasant girl his parents took in off the street. Phineas internally laughed at the idea, this ‘plain jane’ of a witch was related to someone like the Dagworth-Grangers.
How absurd!
Hands in his pockets, head slanted slightly in disinterested manner, the young master waited for the greeting she’d no doubt exclaim at seeing his person…
Only, the brunette was focused on reorganising the piles of books laid out on the single table occupying the room. Her posture was relaxed, hair loose and around her shoulders; a soft dainty smile adorned her features as she went about the task.
She hadn’t noticed his presence at all. Or if she did, Hermione clearly didn’t make any move to acknowledge it.
“You’re going to waste your lunch hour with books too? Do you have a puffskein for a brain?” His voice was borderline whiny, posture filled with arrogance and sneer blatantly obvious. Typical for a ten year old.
“Hm?” Hermione straightened up, a single brown leather book cradled in her arm. It was the first time the young lad spoke to her willingly and what little a reaction she gave to him. “Oh, Phineas. I wasn’t expecting you to make an appearance.” She had the gall to return to her work! “You’re mother just left. I’m sure you can have an elf show you the way.”
“I wasn’t looking for my mother!” He all but cried out in anger. Hands balled tight as he stomped his foot down firmly. “I want to know why you’re here! You’re not a Black! You’re not even nobility! Leave our house! Now!”
“No.”
And that’s how one got rid of… wait. What did she just say?
Phineas had never been so aghast. A peasant actually said no to him. His mind was reeling, caught between anger and shock yet there was a sense of something he couldn’t quite place in the chaos mix of swirling emotions.
“Wha…what?! You have to listen to me! I’m Phineas Black! The heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House Black!”
“And my name is Hermione Granger. Pleased to make your acquaintance Master Black.” She dipped into a perfectly executed curtsy.
Everything that Hermione had done was polite, as one would expect from a girl so strenuously trained under his mother’s guidance. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel as if she were mocking him. Almost stating without words that his status meant nothing in her eyes.
“You’re nothing but a lowlife trying to steal from us! You will tell me what you are really after?!” He pointed an accusatory finger her way, sure that he’d discovered her true reason for infiltrating their home.
The brunette witch took but a moment to pause and apparently think over the question. A finger tapped her chin once, twice; before she turned back to face the red faced lad.
“Wisdom.”
“Huh?!” Despite his vastly intelligent, guttural reply, Hermione carried on nonetheless.
“I cherish knowledge, I love magic but education can get you only so far, young master.” A forlorn gaze took over the brunette’s eyes as she spoke. “To be well educated about the world is to have knowledge others do not possess. But to be wise? True wisdom is like wielding silent magic over the weak minded and controlling those who know no better. An illusionary spell that even the great Merlin would be envious of. I have read many books in my lifetime, even travelled to places far away; seen fairytales before they were written.” She giggled at the last one. “I cherish all I learn and love all that I can. Life isn’t forever you know. But before I leave this world, I’m going to prove what power really is.”
Phineas merely remained standing there, confused and speechless. What was wrong with this girl? Hermione collected what books she required for further study and headed out the door.
“Maybe one day you too will find something worth cherishing. And then you’ll do everything you can to have it. Until then young heir. Good day.”
If there was one thing young Phineas prided himself in; it was his spellwork.
“That is precisely what I’m expecting from you.” Lycoris circled the boy one more time, eyes scrutinising his posture, arm movements and pronunciation of the spell cast.
Phineas gleamed with pride at his father’s words. It wasn’t often he heard them, but with the new year and eleventh birthday just passed, he vowed to impress the man many times more. And it would start when he entered Hogwarts.
It was rare for the Head of House Black to have a moment free in his busy schedule. So without warning, the young boy found himself in the large empty training hall, practising a few simple spells. All things considered, it was going quite well.
“Continue Phineas. I have work to complete. Do not disappoint me.” Just as swift and intimidating as his wife, the man marched from the room without another word nor glance. The heavy set door slammed in his wake upon exiting; the shudder ran through Phineas’ small frame.
“Yes, father.” Exhaling once, twice; the young wizard raised his wand again. “Flipendo!” An orange hazed light flashed out with the vocal incantation but with no target in sight, the spell diminished and faded into nothingness.
Then came the creaking echo of the door and excited, high pitched voices swarmed in that quickly disrupted his concentration. Phineas was gobsmacked to watch his sisters, Iola and Elladora, stroll into the room arm in arm with the Black ward like the mansion was their private playground.
Without so much as a warm welcome to their elder brother; like he wasn’t even there.
“Will you show us? Please?” Iola was an easily excitable young girl and the way she draped from Hermione’s arm was both endearing and quite disruptive. In their wake, the more reserved and put together Elladora spoke up before her sister could whine.
“Iola, we have to be patient,” her tone was an impressive replica of their mother’s firm voice. “Hermione has very little time to spare for us and while mother has permitted our attendance, we do not make demands. Understand?” The older witch tried not to giggle at the confrontation between siblings.
It was all so adorable though!
“Don’t worry Iola. I know just the spell you’ll enjoy.” She stage whispered towards the girl, playing in part to her childish ways. “Avis!” In a vibrant expulsion of colour, light and fluidity, several small birds flew from the brunette’s wand and spiralled their way about the room.
Hermione grinned as the younger witches watched on in awe.
She raised a hand so one bird would land on her finger as she brought it closer to the almost combusting Iola. “This is what’s called a ‘Goldcrest’ bird; they have little stripes on their head, see? One of the smallest birds in Europe.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“What else can you do?” It was adorable, the way little Iola tried to gently caress the conjured bird’s head without harming the creature, Hermione almost missed the question.
“Well I know a few basic house keeping spells, locking or unlocking doors, protection charms are quite useful too,” the brunette thought for a moment, “And simple ones like Aguamenti are fun to play with..”
With her wand pointed towards the ceiling, a light jet of clean fresh water poured out to create a mist like haze over the area, fracturing light and sprinkling down over the girls.
“Those aren’t fun at all!” Phineas boisterously proclaimed as he stepped forward, wand in hand. “You got to use real spells! Hexes and Curses! Jinxes that’ll entrap your enemies in duels!”
“We’re not here to duel, young master.” Hermione straightened herself, barely acknowledging the lad standing near the doorway. “We cannot without your mother’s permission or guidance, especially in your case.”
Her words didn’t deter his ambitious movements nor the high of hearing his father’s echoing voice. Instead, the yet to be teen raised his wand again and shouted.
“Rictusempra!”
A series of white sparks exploded towards Hermione’s person, only to be swatted aside with a flick of her wand. She didn’t say a word and her expression hardened as did her tone of voice.
“Phineas,” eyes darkened as she turned, careful to place herself physically between the ignorant boy and the innocent bystanders. “This is neither the time nor place for such magic. If your mother permits us to duel another day, I will entertain you wholeheartedly. But your sisters do not deserve this interruption.”
“You said you could do some fun spells! Let's see them!” He sneered once more. “Flipendo!”
“Protego!” A crystal like barrier vaporised the flimsy excuse of a jinx long before it neared the witch, but the impact didn’t cover the shrieks of fear from the young girls at her back.
It was the last nerve before Hermione scowled.
“Very well, Master Black.” She calmly and slowly opened her stance to the boy in a taunting manner. Daring him to attack again. “Let’s duel.”
With a swift flourish of her wand arm and flare of her skirts the witch called forth the fires of hell. Massive, fearsome fiery creatures roared to life to encase the room in a wave of pulsating light and searing heat.
Phineas reeled backwards so fast he fell. Cowering in fear and struck numb by the powerful spell before him, the inexperienced wizard wasn’t fully sure at what he was witnessing.
“It’s called fiendfyre, Phineas.” Hermione’s monotone voice was but an echoing taunt radiating through his brain. “A powerful and dark spell very few can perform masterfully.” The boy’s mind was trying to comprehend just what he was hearing. “Be sure never to be facing such a thing again.”
~~~ - Scotland Countryside - June 1859 - ~~~
The summer breeze brought with it the Almati Garden Party, hosted annually by a pureblooded family in one of their many lavish holiday homes. This year, located just on the border of Scotland, the Shafiq family were proudly hosting for the first time and it was beyond extravagant.
All underaged wizarding heirs and heiresses from an assortment of families across the United Kingdom were in attendance; each one enjoying their summer break from Hogwarts as much as they could before September rolled around. Not to mention freedom to show off their growing magical abilities to a wayward audience.
Amongst them was the illustrious Phineas Black; nose held high and dressed in a signature black suit engraved with charms to keep the wearer cool under blazing sunlight. Fortunately, the weather was pleasant for midafternoon, a mild wind carried through the garden and the open space allowed for a small contest. One organised to be the entertainment for the egotistical youths.
A sport of choice for any good witch or wizard worth their salt; duelling.
Currently, standing atop a four foot tall elongated platform, before the young Black was a wayward battle that soon ended when the reigning champion and host of the party, Elias, sent his opponent skyward with a flashy underhanded hex.
Elias Shafiq was only a year older than Phineas, nonetheless he was excellent with a wand and a fierce dueller. Few could match up to his prowess but even then if he lost his duel with the older boy, Phineas wouldn’t hear the end of it from either his parents.
“Bringing disgrace to the family name,” he mumbled softly. Highly aware of anyone close enough to hear the murmurings. “I’d never live it down.”
The flicker of his eyes was the only thing that gave away his growing agitation.
“Come on then Black! Let’s see what you’ve got,” yelled the young master of the house with a smugful glee. “Show us that powerful Black magic!”
Phineas frowned slightly before accepting the unspoken challenge. However, as the teen took to the first step he paused, glancing over his shoulder. Hermione had passed by him without a second look, the softest words escaping her pink lips.
“Watch his left foot.”
Snorting, he walked towards his opponent, each wizard taking a bow and turning.
One step.
He couldn’t help but contemplate the girl's words as he began the march. Did she know something he didn’t? Phineas glanced her way for but a split second.
Second step.
She wasn’t even from the sacred twenty eight and yet there she stood amongst the next generation, acting like any other noble pureblood. Hermione was a powerful witch; observant at the very least and she’d taken the time to…
Third Step.
Despite the taste it left in his mouth, Phineas couldn’t deny her brilliance and talent. So just this once -
The two boys turned, wands ready to cast at the first opening.
He wanted to win. No, Phineas needed to win and if that meant putting his trust in her… The first spells were flashy but harmless. Appeasement for the crowds and formal engagement of opponents. But the tension grew as neither boy yielded an inch; until a slight shift on the left side.
Phinease threw a knee-reversal hex straight towards Shafiq's leg, immediately the older boy fell to the ground like a puppet with loose strings and cried in pain. A split second rolled over incredibly slowly as Phineas realised exactly what he’d just achieved. He won.
Then time moved forward again.
Servants ran out to immediately tend to the fallen wizard; he was trying theatrically to hold his tears back although it was clearly excruciating. Phineas remained standing there, stunned; until he felt the lightest tap upon the shoulder. Hermione stood at his back, eyes intricately taking in the scene.
“Well done.” She spoke softly, like they were the only two in the garden space. The tiniest smile adorned her features. “That was very impressive and quick thinking. I’d say you’ll do well in the duelling club at Hogwarts.”
Phineas was dumbfounded as he watched her walk off into the growing crowd. Surely he hadn’t heard correctly...that was the first time she’d complimented him. A new feeling bubbled up within his chest; so warm and empowering.
A genuine compliment. When was the last time he’d received such, that wasn’t aimed towards his position as the Black heir. In fact, had he ever heard his mother or father say anything with such sincerity?
If it were true, he couldn’t remember.
But this girl…no woman was just standing and smiling at him.
It felt like seeing the sun for the first time.
Phineas clenched his fist over his beating heart, he never wanted this warmth to go away. He needed more.
~~~ - Black Villa, France - New Years Eve Night, 1859 - ~~~
The young lord awaited a response with a calm patience. Hands clasped at his back hid the burning anxiety within but his upbringing would never allow a show of weakness; especially in front of his own parents.
The Head of the Black family continued to sip tea as if Phineas wasn’t present at all. His wife was a little more subtle in her observant ways but did so as she too enjoyed a beverage. Nevertheless, Phineas remained stationary; unmoving as a statue as the tension stretched unbearably between the four walls of the lounge they sat in.
A soft clink of a teacup being placed down seemed to end the silence.
“Well, this is certainly within my expectations; predictable for you to approach us during such an auspicious occasion Phineas.” Madam Black stated in a tactful tone, looking at her son with something that could’ve been affection though those emotions only sparked for a second in her eyes.
A gaze of focused desire adorned her face as numerous scenes played out in her mind; though the boy knew he wasn’t the main subject, his pride grew knowing the part he played in it still.
Phineas held back a grin as he glanced toward his father for approval.
Looking at the young boy before him, Lord Black seemed placated as he waved Phineas off with a hand.
“Thank you father, mother. I shall relay the good news to Miss Granger at once.”
In all but action, the young wizard scampered off into the crowd. As the party goers were socializing and enjoying the impressive selection of food and beverages, Phineas was one of the handful of heirs still around and minding their own business.
He ignored the curious gazes of his housemates in search of the brunette woman that would soon be his. A broad grin spread as he captured her.
While she somehow managed to slip through his fingers for the dance, the young man managed to sway her into a private balcony space above the main hall. After this night, with the new year upon them and before his inevitable return to school, Phineas would announce the exhilarating news.
“Young master Black, are your friends so uninteresting as to cause you to seek me time and again. Surely there would be someone else who could keep you entertained.”
“I won’t deny that Fawley or Avery are acceptable companions when I require them, but your presence is far more rewarding.”
The young lord purposely situated the two near the railing. With the soft music flowing throughout the room and the polite conversational noise barely reaching their location; not to mention the feeling of power with their high vantage point, Phineas knew this was the perfect place to proclaim his intention.
“This is an impressive night you’ve put together, Miss Granger.” Phineas turned to focus on the brunette, something the witch in question noted rather quickly. With a reactive flick of her wrist, the ornate fan flared out in all its decorative glory.
“My my, a compliment from the young master himself. I feel honoured.”
“Indeed; and just wait for midnight. My parents have finally given their blessing.”
Dark eyes took in the teenage boy with apprehension, intrigued but shadowed in caution. Everyone knew, a Black preening with pride was a dark foreshadowing.
Hermione didn’t like it.
“A blessing,” she commented, with little emotion. “Surely you’ve received more than enough of those by now, young master. But, do tell me, what has you in such spirits if not the festivities?”
“My betrothal.” The words rang through her like a bell’s heavy echoing toll. “Mother and father have finally agreed upon a match worthy of my station. It took me a long time to convince them of one in particular and allow the inevitable union. Soon, all the pureblood families of England will know the Blacks have a new bride.”
He stated it with such arrogance, a grin blatantly adorned his face. As blood was pumping through his system, carrying adrenaline, elation and selfish greed, the young heir couldn’t help himself as he all but invaded the brunette’s personal space. “It’s finally here. The moment I’ve been waiting for...”
A second of pause. The musical notes stilled as time eased to but a spec of its flow as the taller witch observed her surroundings. The illuminating lights of self-righteousness glittered freely, the swirling fabric of riches circled the floor without care as laughter of privilege filled the air around them. All of it was a putrid scene that disgusted her; Hermione would rather drown in the Hogwarts lake than remain amongst the rotten any longer.
She puffed a breath of air and time started anew.
“What madness are you spouting, Phineas?” Hermione stepped around the younger boy, arms loosely crossed under her bust, fingers tracing the intricate detailing of her fan. She was mixed between disinterest and exasperation; both of which were souring her mood. Everything had culminated into that moment and it certainly didn’t bring excitement.
Silence, dissociation and gloom; emotions the young master wasn’t expecting from her.
“You’ve been a ward of House Black for two years now, surely you didn’t expect to stay a ward.” His incredulous tone only irked the brunette further, but she remained still. Polite and posed; as was so strenuously taught. “Mother never shared what she first saw in you; and I didn’t see it either for the longest time. But now, it's so obvious. Despite your meager upbringing, your magic is powerful and your intellect is beyond compare. The things you could bring...”
Oh the things she would do... Hermione’s tongue was clenched between porcelain canines as any more words would have drawn crimson blood.
A heavy toll rang throughout the manor. Resounding echoes vibrated through every step, pillar, clothing fibre and lost soul within the walls of the estate, marking the evening’s big finale. One year passed; a new one began.
Phineas paused to gather his pulsating excitement before stepping to the railing; passed Hermione’s still form as he glanced onto the gathering of honoured guests, all of them unknowingly spectators to a glorious moment.
This was his platform, his grand gesture and moment to shine. It had taken the young wizard far too long to gain ground, appease the empowered and pledge the unknowing. As darkened eyes watched his parents re-enter the crowd, the teenager straightened to his full height.
“Ladies and gentlemen; extinguished guests and benevolent wizarding patrons, I welcome and thank you all for attending tonight's festivities!” With a flourish, he sent a volley of colourful sparks and poppers over the heads to accompany his now booming voice. A round of applause followed the gesture, all to which his smile grew. “The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has lineage dating back almost a millennia; with such roots nestled even in a far off land such as France, well, we make it all the more bearable, don’t we?”
The spectators chuckled at the lousy jest; Phineas never really cared for what ties his family made in the past. Blacks dominated when it came to bloodlines anyway, what was some pesky old branch of the continent to him.
Hermione’s eyes sharpened, the only expressive feature currently visible with her fan so strategically placed covering her face in that particular ladylike manner.
She watched on silently as the spoiled brat of an heir rattled on to the enraptured crowd; spouting nonsense and half truths to sway favour and garnish praise. Despite the spectacle, her gaze caught the slightest motions of movement between the colourfully dressed adults. Tiny frames amongst the towering bodies; children dressed in cloth far above their stations set on their marked paths before the speech was over.
Hermione smiled to herself. She’d trained them well.
Mariana, her ever faithful right hand. The girl was a natural leader; obedient and patient, though a little quiet for such a strongheaded child. Hermione admired her loyalty and devotion for the last year.
Brown eyes snapped to another familiar body in the crowd; near the back and alongside two other lads. Ralph was a risky one. A willful and arrogant boy all too willing to fight before thinking; it took the witch nearly three full months to gain his trust and with it, respect. Hermione found use for him as a messenger, his agility and quick witted attitude was useful when her orders had to be heard. Especially for that well planned night.
The witch watched with pride as the half dozen souls she’d gathered placed themselves strategically around the room, near exits and open windows. Ready for the show to begin.
“All of this grandeur and elaborate night is thanks to one lady. One witch who earned the attention and respect of our noble house and the hostess of the evening. May I present to you all, the ward of House Black.” Phineas waved a hand in her direction as if presenting her as a prized trophy.
The brunette had her fan open and greeted the room’s applause with little more than a graceful but slight curtsy. Eyes remained focused on the young heir and his pitiful excuse of a lavish scheme; gathering the masses to make a show of a proposal to ensure her acceptance.
As if a few dozen eyes would deter Hermione’s will of steel.
“A specimen yet unseen in the halls of society, one so talented with both mind and magic, a prize for any wizard and a witch I so desire... and that brings us upon another momentous occasion. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has chosen its next bride; Lady Hermione Granger!”
The roar of the attending crowd would’ve been deafening, such an exciting moment was the cause of great celebration amongst the highest society; but Hermione heard not an echo of the reverberating soundwaves. Her eyes were focused on the boy before her. An arrogant heir with an even more disgusting grin.
“What say you Miss Granger? Would you have the honour of being mine?”
It started with a step forward; Hermione didn’t realise she’d moved until the heel collided with the tile once, twice and yet again. Slow sway of her hips, the perfected glide in her form was from years of relentless tutelage. Hermione used her free hand to delicately close the ornate fan without so much as a snap.
With practiced ease, the brunette started to slowly and deliberately loosen each tip of her gloved hand, pulling the silken fabric across smooth, pale skin until the garment was removed entirely. It was so light, so perfect and pristine.
Perfect for the deliciously vicious sound it made as it violently slapped across Phineas’ left cheek.
“Who would ever wish to put themselves in the lowest of standings?” Hermione knew her voice carried despite its calm, even tone. The action was satisfying in words even she couldn’t fathom; years of torment, being subjected to this boy’s pitiful existence and that callous hag’s teachings. A lion’s roar would be heard far and wide.
The heir had nothing to say but splutter in pain from the attack. Hermione wasn’t one to relish punishment. But Merlin, it felt good.
“You are a pathetic excuse of a pureblood, and that’s not saying much to begin with Phineas. Birthed from bloodlines so construed and misshapen, your tapestry would be more a celtic knot than a family tree. Burning faces and names deemed ‘unworthy’ if they didn’t show even a speck of talent; like that could hide the fact your magic is drying out. Oh yes, I know many of the pureblood secrets.”
Dark eyes moved from the snivelling coward to the awaiting crowd. “All of you are a menace to our world and cowards in human skin! So called betters than other magical folk? Please…”
She waved her hand in a lack-lustre fashion, both minimal and lazy, yet every high walled window shattered into thousands of crystal fragments to scatter amongst the shaken crowd. The signal her cohorts used to their advantage as the fun began.
Near a dozen small children ran about in zigzag patterns, throwing coloured smoke bombs, sparkling fireworks and splattering jars of brightly coloured goo in all directions; coating patrons, furniture and walls in all manner of substances.
It quickly turned the party goers confused and distraught, frightened and befuddled by their surroundings.
“So powerful in your magical lineages you can’t even handle a few wayward muggle contraptions? Are you really wizards?” She was petty in her taunting words. “You came for food and entertainment; well let me give you a show to remember!” Watching with glee as her beloved minions thrived in their childish and chaotic ways. Hermione took her time before turning back towards the lone boy beside her. “Young master, you look so dismayed. Is this not what you envisioned?”
As the witch advanced, Phineas was quickly growing horrified at the spectacle she created. Her usual dark gaze was filled with malice, an enraged fire of burning vitriol and an icy petulance focused solely on him.
“How…how dare you!” He cried out. She merely giggled.
“Says the mamma’s boy deprived of attention. And all from a woman who seemed to adore me, huh…a true ward of House Black wasn’t I? I did so much in such a short time; all of two years you said? Very true..” The witch had removed her other glove and tossed the useless garments aside in favour of playing with the richly decorated fan. “Ugh, those two long disgusting years of tolerating your presence, hours of cruel, useless history lessons engraved onto my brain and watching that pitiful excuse of spellwork; time I’ll never get back.”
An ironic statement coming from her.
Hermione was quickly losing herself to the fiery rage. The culminating pressure of both magic and emotion coiled inside her gut was close to bursting. Cold eyes snapped to the young wizard’s position, sharp enough to cut flesh from bone.
“Tell me something, my dear precious noble heir…how does it feel to be outsmarted by a muggleborn?” Her taller frame closed in on him and he stood there unable to turn away as she leaned in a hair's breadth away. Whispered words seared into his skull as his anger rose from the depths of despair.
“What?!”
Hermione spun around in a gleeful twirl; free from the lies and secrets that secured her life within those four walls. A maniacal chuckle escaped her lips as she danced onto the railings edge and tossed the fan aside without a second thought. No more hiding for her.
“Still attracted to me, Phineas? Or does it hurt your pride that you could never mark up to people like us?” With her wand in hand, Hermione gave a final bow to her audience of one. “Oh and I’m a Gryffindor at that.” Instantly, the witch’s body was encapsulated by a fiery formation of a roaring Lion’s head firework, made of crimson and gold smoke that exploded into a million falling sparks.
By the time Phineas reached the balcony edge she’d vanished without a trace.
Down below, amongst the erratic and desperate cries, thunderous sounds of destruction and heavy footsteps echoed throughout the hall as dozens of armed wizards and Ministry officers charged forth.
As the officials began to confiscate wands and round up families and patrons alike, not a trace of those wayward children were seen. Seemingly escaped through broken windows in the chaos as the attendees were held captive by the gate crashers. Phineas watched as his parents were stunned near the far wall, the look of unfiltered rage on his father’s face unmatched.
“Curse you filthy mudblood!!”
The night was mostly silent, save for a rogue stray dog or cat wandering to places unknown. Hermione was careful where she stepped, the freshly fallen snow was doing well to hide the black ice but ever vigilant, the witch took her time on the cobblestone pathway.
A soft tune resounded from her chest, a faded memory more than anything but the warmth that rose up as she watched the younger kids run free was unmatched; no longer were they orphaned children foreshadowed to live a miserable existence. Free from the chains of horrible pureblooded masters who saw them as little more than animals in the dirt, they finally could have a say in their futures.
A bonus was no snivelling puppy lapping her heals either.
The witch remembered reading a small notation in Hogwarts history about its many Headmasters through the ages; Hermione chuckled thinking what part she played in forming the radical bigot that became the infamous Phineas Black. Would such a hateful man grow from a heartbroken boy over a childhood crush?
“Mademoiselle Granger, I see your plan came to fruition.”
Hermione didn’t hear the carriage pull alongside, no doubt rune magic or some enchantment, but she knew the voice well. Without missing a beat, the door swung open and she stepped inside fluidly to seat across from the well respected woman.
For the short time Hermione had the privilege of the lady’s company, she’d seen all manner of scenarios the witch dominated her surroundings.
Lady Selwyn had a flirtatious touch, sneaking upon innocent souls unannounced like a gliding spirit. Her sharp tongued discussions over tea left the unprepared gaping like an earth bound guppy or redder than a freshly grown tomato. Hermione hadn’t before encountered such a conundrum she couldn’t decipher; like a runic puzzle left guarding an ancient treasure, the urge was unrelenting.
And yet, the vintage woman guarded a darkened secret so solidly, Hermione’s will to delve deeper was quashed by a mere glance. Such power came with wisdom, and with wisdom, the witch knew better than to step where she was unwelcomed.
“Escaping the manor was an easier task than expected; it appears however, the children have excess energy to spare. Freedom alleviates the soul.”
“Allow them their enjoyment; after such torments as theirs, a spark or two wouldn’t go amiss.” The lady seemed relaxed, pleased but grounded. Hermione couldn’t help but admire her presence, but even in their finest hour of victory, there was a hint of sadness.
“You saved their lives Madam Selwyn.” She spoke passively, with an air of reverence. It was the truth; every word. Hermione knew she couldn’t have completed this task alone, despite her ever growing skills and magic ability, the fact was the brunette wasn’t all powerful nor influencial. She’d lived many lifetimes perhaps and trained her body and soul, but a teenager was still a teenager.
Sharpened blue orbs watched her deflated form very carefully.
“I brought in Aurors to catch a slavers ring trading muggleborn orphans to the hand of nobility. You were the one to give the children their freedom back; don’t sell your talents short Mademoiselle Granger. History doesn’t remember the humble.”
Hermione snorted; an action unbecoming of a proper lady, a fact she’d remembered swiftly by quickly covering her mouth. Aghast she made just a sound in company. “Forgive me Madam, but I don’t care much for such records. History can remember me however it likes. I won’t be here to witness it.”
A moment of pause fell over the duo. Hermione lost in her distant thoughts and unaware of the sorrowful gaze that lingered on her person.
“I must ask one more thing of you Lady Selwyn; I have all but ensured the Black family’s darkened perspective of the world and their many atrocities to come...” Her gaze remained on the darkness outside. “But these children deserve a chance to live, learn and prove themselves outside their bloodline. Brought to a foreign land without parents to care for them, their magic may run amuck.”
It was quite an unspoken request; to take responsibility for half a dozen youths, muggleborn children at that. Their futures would rely on whatever benefits the Lady would grace them with and schooling was…
“Request granted Mademoiselle Granger; I dare not turn down such an ally.”
“I cannot thank you enough…” her voice was cut off by a spark of magic caressing her skin.
The feeling had been escaping her for nearly two years but Hermione knew the sensation as it tingled throughout every nerve, every inch of tissue and bone; the addictive power of time's thrall had finally returned. The dust finally settled enough to send her back.
As both women watched the brunette’s body glisten in unseen magic, the solidity faded with each second ticking by until she was but a wisp on the air. Hermione gazed at her companion one last time, faintest smile on her lips.
“Farewell, my lady….”
And she was gone.
The carriage came to a stop at a crossroads, the lone figure poised in silence. Eyes remained locked on the seat opposite her; its occupant gone without a trace. Lady Selwyn reached forward before thinking better of it, the traveller was gone and she couldn’t do a thing about it.
A small chuckle escaped her painted lips, a smirk many found daunting yet alluring.
“Ah, you’re truly as the tales say Hermione Granger. A traveller of time and champion of magic. It has been a pleasure to bask in your presence.” A knock came to the carriage window. A shadow of a reliable man. “We’re to return home, Sebastian. Gather the children; I’m sure maman would love to meet them.”
“At once, Lady Delacour.”
“Sebastian… You know I’m married now, oui?” She replied with a smirk and hint of amusement.
“You will always be Lady Delacour to me Madam.”
The woman sat in a moment of reminisce; eyes closed as she fell back into memories of a roaring fire, moonless nights and mythical tales long forgotten sung by her foremothers. Softer times, without strike or woes of the human world.
Her steelfast gaze returned as the last child found a comfortable seat before her; nervous and fidgety. What enthusiasm and energy they had moments ago, fell away to the hardened instinct of wariness before noble lineage.
Lady Selwyn exhaled silently before straightening her posture.
“I escort you all safely to my family home…Maman will be delighted to see your young faces.” When nothing changed the young Veela pondered. Were they scared of her or their unknown future; with Hermione gone, they had nothing to hold onto anymore. “Tell me, children..” she paused to assess their faces, “Would you like to hear the tale of the ‘Traveller of the Moonless Night’?”