Chapter Text
For one horrifyingly long second there was absolutely nothing. Not wind, not sound, not even the sensation of air entering or leaving her lungs as she sat with her heart in her throat.
And then, like the floodgates had opened and Magic had finally found them, they were off.
An abrupt lurching sensation took hold on her body, first flowing down and through the universe to sink in through her pores and send her off spinning and flying faster than the Knight Bus had ever gone. It was nothing at all like the sensation of riding off on a broom, no moment of lift as she took up off the ground and nor was there any sensation that could tell her ears that she was rising or falling above the surface of the earth. There was only the oddly smooth but intensely rough feeling of Euryale’s scales beneath her palms and the sudden uncomfortability brought on by the missing sensation of free-fall as she tightened up her legs around the massive dorsal scales blanketing the serpent.
Euryale was already more than large enough that Hermione could never hope to hold her arms tightly around the serpents neck, but gods did she try. The abject fear of falling into some in-between was all that powered her frantic hold; a hold made all the more arduous by Euryale’s scared undulation as she twisted through Portkey space.
The air around her twisted and contorted in rapidly spiraling knots that had wind whistling by her ears at a pace almost fast enough, but not quite, to strip away the sound of Bellatrix’s mad cackling from behind her. Within a few moments of the witch’s euphoria she too was laughing; laughing at the madness of it all, at the prospect of dying, and at the prospect that anything in this world of hers couldn’t be solved by the application of Magic and her mind.
It was all just so mad!
Here she was, sitting atop the Queen of Serpents, riding on untested Magic towards a location far, far away from her home, with a woman who she’d come to love even as her older self still rattled along in her nightmares.
Madness; pure and simple.
But like all things, even the crazy and mind shatteringly intense, the ride had to come to an end.
Their arrival wasn’t heralded by any explosions or a sudden loss of balance like her first trip had been back when she was young and inexperienced. It didn’t end with her as a splat of gore and viscera against the ground either. Without any warning they seemed to suddenly ‘Pop!’ back into a normal approximation of reality, their ears popping at the sudden change in elevation and stomachs attempting to escape their throats. Euryale immediately set to writhing and twisting all along the underbrush as her girth made contact with the ground; the Portkey’s attached to her sides nearly jostling loose in her struggles.
::Calm down! Euryale,:: Hermione fell down straight onto her knees with a huff of pain when a particularly violent shake sent Bellatrix and herself tumbling off onto the forest floor, ::We’ll take them off, just stop moving!::
Euryale’s movements ceased while she let out a monumental hiss of displeasure that had Hermione’s skin breaking out into goosebumps and sweat beading up along the base of her neck, ::You’re alright Euryale, we made it.::
::Off! Take them off!:: The serpent was puffing herself up much like common puff adder, her hiss reverberating throughout Hermione’s chest and darkly slitted eyes staring at them through the thin veil of her nictitating membrane while she watched them rush about to remove the Portkeys. One by one Hermione and Bellatrix unlatched the Goblin forged clasps that had, quite effectively, held onto her scales while they had been traveling, curses tumbling from her lips whenever she stumbled or her fingers caught. It would have been nice if magic was strong enough to take care of unlatching each and every one of the things; but Goblin forged metals were… different. Their tendencies to react negatively to humankind’s magic was legendary, and in the interest of safety both Bellatrix and herself had made the firm decision to apply and remove each Key by hand.
‘All in all,’ she thought darkly when a fingernail chipped on spun gold, ‘It’s a wonder this harebrained scheme even worked.’
---
With shaky feet underneath her and arms shivering from the sudden workload finally falling down to her side, Hermione stopped and stared as the last bit of Goblin metal dropped down from Euryale’s side to pool beneath the cover of forest undergrowth.
::Never gain, no travel, bad travel,:: Euryale hissed out, rubbing her sides against a tree as she took advantage of the sudden change in texture. After a few minutes of observing her surroundings Euryale was finally beginning to calm down, her jaw opened wide as she sucked in clean, and more importantly fresh, air to fill her lungs. With a sudden fluid movement she twisted around to press the tip of her snout against Hermione’s outstretched hand and began to hiss at barely more than a whisper, :: Thank you, thank you, thank you.::
::You’re welcome Euryale,:: Hermione smiled at the imposing serpent, all sharp fangs and gleaming eyes, her sides radiating a multicolored sheen that sparkled and glittered beneath stray rays from the sun. It was the first moment she’d truly been able to look at Euryale beneath something other than the oppressive gloom that had radiated throughout the Chamber, and she found it beautiful.
Euryale was practically glittering like diamonds as she shook herself and twisted on the ground, the tips of sharpened scutes nearer the ground all tipped with white like miniature stones. Scutes beneath her length were cream along the edges, black and brown down the middle from where she had scraped along stonework for so long; her teeth blindingly white despite the meals she had been eating and patterned whirls atop her spine a mixture of gold and onyx.
All around them the world was alive with the braying and cawing of wildlife, from the tops of the trees the incessant sounds of insects and birds filtered through the foliage to snag her attention and leave her spinning in place as she observed the rainforest. Most animals seemed to sense the sudden bulk of predator sitting in their midst, some calls more alarming and adamant than others, but Hermione and Bellatrix both knew they need not be afraid now that they’d won one of the strongest predators on the planet to their side.
::I think you’ll love it here Euryale,:: Bellatrix spoke up from behind Hermione, the length of cordage and individual Portkey’s bundled in her arms as she waited on Hermione to open up her enchanted bag to hold it all. ::It’s beautiful here.::
:: I agree… Even Salazar himself could not return me to a proper home; but you two have managed where he and his descendants failed, :: Euryale began to wind a curving arc around where they stood, her head pointed out into the wilderness, ::Should you ever have need of me or my like, I will be at your service or direct others.::
::Thank you, Euryale, though we’d prefer it if you’re never bothered by Humans again. However, there is one favor I would ask of you,:: Hermione said, stepping backwards and reaching into the pouch at her hip to remove a small glass phial not much larger than her thumb and stoppered with magically infused polypropylene. ::If it wouldn’t trouble you at all, would you mind us taking some of your venom?::
Euryale sank down to lower her bottom jaw against the forest floor and peered into the tiny phial within Hermione’s grip, her slit eyes widening before settling upon Hermione. ::What would you use it for?::
::Well, we would use it to kill the one who released you and reneged on his promises, the one you knew as Tom Riddle, Voldemort.::
Euryale reared backwards and hissed out a low tone that undulated with her movements, something striking that could only be described as a haunting laugh that rose up and up until it was beyond the range of their hearing entirely. ::Yes! Yes, yes, I do believe that is a worthwhile endeavor. He promised me safety! He promised me security! For his treachery I would gladly see you tear him down.:: Euryale lowered herself until she could peer directly into Hermione’s eyes, the young witch trembling at the knowledge that all that separated her from death was a thin membrane and the temperament of a thousand year old snake.
She gulped, more on the principal of the fear rather than the fear itself, hyper-focused on the fact that now that they’d gotten here Euryale had no reason to harm them whatsoever.
::You have my word Euryale. I’ll return when it’s done and find you. But it may take years to happen,:: Hermione hissed out, conviction ringing through her tone.
::Good, good. Here now, hold it out,:: Euryale opened her maw as wide as she could, her tongue drifting forward to lay atop her bottom fangs and dagger like top ones descending further as she forced venom to emerge. In a flash Hermione had the phial unstoppered and held beneath the gleaming tip as venom fell down channels in the enamel towards the tip and dripped off into the small opening. The liquid was yellow, falling drop by agonizing drop, and Hermione continuously fought the shivers and shakes threatening to put her fingers directly underneath it. With a flourish she pulled her arm back at the last second before the phial could overflow, the top pressing back on and the whole item dropped securely into her bag as elation and a grin stretched across her face. Bellatrix silently moved up behind her and wrapped warm arms around her midsection, the dark haired witch’s chin moving to rest atop her shoulder.
::Thank you so much Euryale,:: Bellatrix hissed, her own dark eyes glittering up at the serpent.
Euryale hiss-laughed, ::I do believe it’s me who should be thanking you. You know where you can find me, if ever the need arises, do not hesitate. Goodbye.:: Euryale nodded her head and stared them both in the eye before she turned away and began to carve a path through the underbrush of the forest that smashed small trees and flattened every plant in her way. After what felt like far too soon the sounds of her movement disappeared into the cacophony of the forest, her bulk quickly swallowed up and hidden by the foliage itself.
“You think we did the right thing?” Bellatrix nipped gently at the skin of Hermione’s neck, her fingers pressing down against the soft plane of her stomach.
Hermione smirked, “Yes, I think so. It definitely worked out better than our first plan.”
“Safer too,” Bellatrix whispered through lips that brushed Hermione’s pulse, “And on top of it you got one of the single rarest potion ingredients in the entire world.”
“Pretty good for a time traveler and her delinquent lover,” Hermione smiled and leaned back into the embrace, her body shifting side to side as feet sank lower into the soft forest soil.
“Pretty damned good,” Bellatrix leaned into Hermione’s back and captured her earlobe in between her teeth, “Now, shall we? Escaping a painful death just turns me on like nothing else.”
Hermione set to giggling as Bellatrix’s fingers wandered further south, “Yes Bella, lets.”
---
By the gods did her feet hurt.
She knew that in the grand scheme of everything, her own and Dumbledore’s as well as Voldemorts, it didn’t matter. It was an intensely minuscule thing to be upset about but the oddly styled heels that she wore beneath the flowing length of her dress were just a bit too tight all along the outside of her foot in a way that made shuffling her feet to keep the feeling her legs a must. All in all a chore she felt was more annoying than it was worth.
‘I guess I could just pass out. That would work, right?’
It would work; in a way. But she was more than sure that magic would have her up and back on her feet in no time flat; back into the same shuffling position with nothing to show for it but the notoriety that came with falling to the ground during a graduation ceremony. And beyond that the damage it would do to the respect she held from the Professors and students at her back simply wasn’t worth the few minutes of peace and relaxation.
‘Oh well,’ she thought, ‘At least I look good.’
Vanity wasn’t one of her more abject vices but it paid to have money and now that she did, well, she wasn’t so lost up her own head as to ignore it. To that end the dress she wore was worth every knut, beautiful and flowing as it hugged her body. The color was a pearlescent green that shimmered and glittered beneath the sun as she twisted and moved; the skirt portion a straight edge of seafoam green to compliment her makeup and her House. SHe was surprised that she’d ended up in this position; less that she was in a dress and more that she was finally graduating.
Instead of the thin gown and cap that she’d been expecting they had instead been given strict orders to find fashionable and appropriate clothing to wear beneath the drapery of a flowing robe edged in their House’s colors while a pointed hat sat atop their heads. The robes were oversized on purpose, left with no buttons or way to close them so that they billowed and shifted with the wind, their left breast emblazoned with the crest of Hogwarts while the right displayed their House.
Bellatrix, the massive overachiever that she was, had opted instead to dress as brazenly as possible in an exotic dress that hugged every curve while revealing the pale stretch of skin that ran from her shoulders and down to her back before wrapping around to reveal the smooth cream of her stomach. The material was some form of satin that swallowed up all the light that touched it with the exception of two green snakes that wound up and around her body until their heads rested against her collarbone, their long tongues flickering out to taste the air against the fabric.
Hermione’s opinion on the item was that it was as beautiful as her lover, her cheeks a rosy pink with the exertion and nervousness of the day and her hair pulled back into a twisting braid that spread out across her back and shoulder into ringlets and waves. She wore the robe as an afterthought at most; the fabric pulled wide open and barely hanging onto her by her shoulders, her dress and skin exposed while she cocked cheshire grins at anyone who looked at her. Bellatrix wasn’t the only one to have dressed to outshine the sun, most others in their year had thrown their own personal spin on the robes until they could call it all their own, a true liberation from their seven years of living with a stifling and restrictive uniform.
When they had all woken up that morning their first act had been to dress and wander around, many of them taking last minute looks at the campus that they were soon set to leave, many filled with happiness at the occasion and others with a sadness that they couldn’t articulate, each mourning the passage of seven years in their own way. Bellatrix had spent her morning knocking about their shared room in a daze while Hermione had been moving around with a nervous energy that wouldn’t seem to dissipate as hard as she tried, Agath sitting on her shoulder and hissing in displeasure at the speed she put into packing her trunk. As the morning progressed she’d settled into a dull sort of nausea that ate away at her gut and sent her fingers twitching as anxiety swelled beneath her breast; a sort of wavering uncertainty that was only just settled when Bellatrix stood in front of her to wrap warm arms around her shoulder and pepper her cheeks with soft kisses.
No; she wasn’t going to be able to walk on the stage with the friends she’d grown up with beside her, there would be no Harry to her right, or Ronald to her left, no Neville and no Seamus. Not even Lavender in one of her precocious moods or her smattering of friends from other Houses. This realization, this actuality, hurt her to a degree that she hadn’t thought she’d succumb to.
All her old friends were safe in their own world, and hadn’t even been born yet in this one. They had duties and responsibilities to attend to, many having chosen to not even return for their seventh year. When she closed her eyes she could imagine what many of them would be doing, either working with the Ministry or out in the wider world, many more somewhere in the private sector doing something that they enjoyed. The thought that they were all okay in a world that no longer had a war looming on the horizon was enough to settle most of her nerves. For the rest she had someone right beside her who’d become more than a friend, someone she loved and cherished with all her heart.
Bellatrix squeezed Hermione’s hand with a gentle warmth and even pressure that brought her up and out of her reminiscence to ground her back in the present of their world. All around her the remaining seventh years were milling about as they waited to get on with the show; the rest of the Castle left empty and barren after all the other students had gone home the day before. A few remained, mostly siblings or those from other countries, and Hermione could catch a glimpse of them from the ramparts above them or through stained-glass windows as they peered down into the courtyard far below them. There weren’t many of them waiting in the courtyard; seven from Gryffindor, twelve from Ravenclaw, fifteen from Hufflepuff, and only eight from Slytherin.
A pitiable few, but rambunctious and excited nonetheless.
Eventually the Professors managed to catch all of their attention to begin the long trek out from the Castle with little fanfare or pomp. All the boys had been informed to line up on one side of the narrow bridge, separated by Houses, and the girls had then been instructed to remain in a line to their left, mirroring their movement and pace. Slughorn was smiling brightly between his charges; his eyes crinkling and smile beaming as he stood there in a tweed suit beneath a larger looking version of their own robe.
Flitwick’s group was next and though he stood less than half of his charge’s height the pride swelling his chest made him seem like a giant. Minerva stood between her lions with a fierceness to her features that more than earned her distinction as mother to her cubs, and lastly but not least Pomona Sprout stood, and gossiped and high-fived, between her Badgers.
At the head of the assembled students stood their years Valedictorian, a Ravenclaw who neither Hermione nor Bellatrix knew, waving back at Filius and bowing gratuitously whenever members of his House began shouting his name. Not that any of this made Hermione jealous, no, he deserved to be standing up there on his lonesome, no matter how much it hurt her pride. Hermione’s N.E.W.T.S.’s had all gone quite well, nine O’s and one E in Defense, much to her heated displeasure, a respectable outcome but not the desired one. Bellatrix in turn had tested at everything and come away from it with eight O’s and four E’s, a strong achievement that would carry her over in almost any job she applied for, were their plans not already nearly set in stone.
Still they had both ended up needing to decompress once they realized they’d been surpassed, their last night beneath the Castle as students being filled with exploding dummies summoned up by the Room of Requirement, their arms unleashing exceedingly Dark curses and hexes in a bid to flood themselves with the intoxicating allure of Magic in order to take the sting off their loss.
From that line they had all walked out and off the thin bridge before taking a sharp turn down onto the grounds before the Black Lake, their words silent and hearts racing for the ceremony set to begin. There on the shores of the Black Lake was a long and wooden platform that jutted outwards from sand and deep into the cold waters gently lapping ashore, a great and hulking beast managed only by magic to remain afloat and keep water from splashing onto its wood. Back on the embankment in a twinning made in the same style and with the same wood, stood a proper set of benches in a half circle, three rows with each one further back being higher up to present guests with an easy view of those before them.
Multiple teachers that Hermione had come to know in this world and the last were standing before their seats on the uppermost ring; their robes adorned with their own personal Houses and pointed hats tilted to block the scant rays of the sun. Some were younger, some looked hardier, but each wore an expression of pride and delight that had warmth swelling through Hermione’s chest as she observed them on her way to the stage.
Technically it was spring in Scotland but one would be hard-pressed to determine that on their own; gray skies filled with puffs and wisps of clouds were stratified up above them in a pattern that let sunlight streak down at odd intervals, lighting up the ground and its occupants with a powerfully warm glow before disappearing again to let chills build up around them. The wind was a living thing that rolled in off the lake and higher elevations before batting them around, nearly taking hats off heads and sending gowns flurrying around their bodies. As Hermione strode up onto the stage she could feel the comforting caress of layered charms and enchantments set up to manage the unpredictable weather; the wind soothing and calm the further she walked, the faint hint of warmth spreading across her legs and shoulders before passing through her body until even her nose was a comfortable warmth.
Near the front but in the middle of the wooden structure stood the Headmaster in a chartreuse robe emblazoned with House Gryffindor and the Hogwarts crest; his pointed hat replaced with a cowl that matched the color of his robes and short beard combed and braided in a myriad of twists that held metal and bits of glass. A wooden podium that reached his chest was stood before him and atop it sat the Sorting Hat itself; the fabric pulled and pinched into the imitation of a cheshire grin, the whole of it moving and lilting to its own design in the absence of the wind.
When they’d all settled into place, Gryffindor in the front left and Slytherin in the back right, Dumbledore motioned with his hand before clapping once to gain everyone’s attention.
“Valued students, honored faculty, parents and our esteemed guests; It is my great privilege, and dare I say pleasure to welcome you all here on this fine and lovely morning to the Graduation of the Hogwarts class of Nineteen Seventy,” he paused, old gaze twisting around to view all in attendance, “Each and every student you see standing behind me has endured seven long and arduous years filled with rigorous study and academia; and all at the highest standards that our fine Country has to offer…”
Hermione tried, she truly did, but eventually the combination of her hurting feet and the repetitive lull of his words all blended into a mindless repetition in her head; a white noise that blanketed her mind with comforting familiarity regardless of Dumbledore’s rather antagonistic relationship as of late. It was to be expected that her mind would soon turn to wander rather than zero in on his words, and the little spark of shame she felt was mitigated by mind-numbing drudgery. As the gray clouds above them continued to whirl and pass on by she turned her attention to the stands before them and contented herself with observing each and every face, looking for differences and similarities to the people she’d known from her own world.
After five or so minutes of this she became resigned to admitting that no, she could not recognize them or identify them; a consequence she was sure had come about due to her Muggleborn youth, if she had been pure or even halfblood she might have recognized the younger form of friends or classmates grandparents but as it was they were all strangers. Except, she noted with a wry grin and confusion sparking in her brain, a pair of late arrivals.
Lord Voldemort himself was slowly walking towards a seat with a younger version of who looked to be Antonin Dolohov following closely behind him. Hermione wasn’t sure what had prompted the man to arrive at this graduation; surely he hadn't done it in her own timeline since he had already declared himself a Dark Lord, and beyond antagonizing this version of Dumbledore she couldn’t come up with an excuse for his arrival. In the end it was just a mystery, and one that she hoped, as well as suspected, would be solved by the time they left.
Eventually Dumbledore’s speech began to waver and peter out as he came to a natural stopping point, his words ending rather abruptly to the sound of applause from the students and guests. “Now,” the Sorting Hat yelled out, “When I call your name, please step forward and reach inside; I promise not to bite nor taunt, for within me I hold something that you want.”
Hermione’s head cocked to the side and her face pulled up in puzzlement at the odd little rhyme, if it could even be called that, and around her multiple students snorted and sniggered while making jokes about the Hat finally having lost it.
“Joseph Ariane!” The Hat’s voice was booming across the stage and platform, loud and distinct amid the stillness of the morning. From the middle of the grouping a young man in Hufflepuff colors strode forward to walk down between the aisles of students and stop before the Headmaster. Dumbledore and Pomona, who had drifted to the front near the podium along with the other Heads, shook his hand with enthusiasm and vigor before offering him the Hat to reach inside.
In a swift movement he pulled out a rolled up parchment sealed with wax in the shape of the Hogwarts crest, its paper worn and yellow, stiff and unyielding. He nodded his head at Dumbledore and Pomona after setting the Hat back down and retreated to his position amid a smattering of applause and cheer from the stands. Hermione watched as the grouping continued, each called one by one to stand before the Headmaster in alphabetical order; and soon enough a name that brought a smile to her face was called.
“Bellatrix Black!” The Hat’s voice erupted through the group while applause rained down from the stands and even Voldemort graced them with a smile and polite gold clap, Dolohov beside him looking dour and solemn. Hermione watched the witch head off with pride beneath her chest as Bellatrix practically skipped down the middle to stand before the Headmaster and Slughorn, her eyes never once leaving the Headmaster’s face. When she returned her black eyes were glittering with light, happiness spilling over to infect Hermione to the core, a far off goal that had once seemed insurmountable when she was younger finally having been completed.
And then, soon enough, it was her own turn.
“Emelia Grenier!” Hermione blanched, body stiled as her brain shot up, ‘You’re Emelia you dolt!’ , her feet hurrying to send her towards the podium. Her cheeks and neck were flushed with heat and some odd mixture of embarrassment and dread, ‘What if I go to pull it out and it’s not there? What then?!’ She knew it was ridiculous; she had graduated, she would find her diploma inside the Hat, but still that nagging feeling persisted until she was standing before Dumbledore’s young face and slowly shaking his hand.
“Congratulations Emelia,” Dumbledore said as he lifted the Hat up for her to reach inside, “I do believe this has been a long time coming for you.”
Hermione grinned and reached inside, “Yes Headmaster, it truly has.” Her fingers closed around a parchment roll that seemed to materialize between her grip, hand yanking backwards as if burned as she sought to confirm what she was feeling.
It was here, in her grasp, finally! Thirty years too soon and two years too late, but it was hers now. She’d done it!
Hermione turned quickly against the sound of applause to head back up towards her row and stared down the line of students, her eyes searching for Bellatrix and finding-
‘Miss me, Pet?’
-the witch smiling as brightly as ever while a thin ray from the sun painted her face a rosy gold. Coal black eyes sparkled and twinkled as she came to a stop beside her, one arm shooting forward to pull her into a deep kiss that involved more than a little tongue while the classmates surrounding them wolf whistled and whooped. “Congrats love,” Bellatrix released her hold to let Hermione resume her spot, “You did it.”
Hermione grinned so hard she could feel her cheeks burn with exertion, “No, we did it.”
---
“We will now disperse for a recess of three hours while the Graduates relax and soak in the atmosphere of the school for one last moment,” Dumbledore’s aged voice spoke out across the water and wood, “We will then reconvene for Send Off. Thank you, and please, enjoy yourselves.”
His words marked the end of the first portion of the day; all students - graduates - released to wander and absorb the campus as much as they could before the final portion of the ceremony was completed. Arm in arm Hermione and Bellatrix strode off the stage and towards the stands where parents were searching for their children, professors were heading back to their rooms, and guests were milling about to network. Hermione had her sights set on one man though, standing tall and away from the larger group.
“My Lord,” she curtsied as much as she could while stuck inside her dress and robes while Bellatrix hurriedly fought to catch up to her movements, “We weren’t expecting to see you here today.”
Voldemort inclined his head in response to their curtsy and motioned for them to follow as he began to walk, “Truth be told I hadn’t planned on being here originally. But plans change, and when I realized I’d be in the area I decided it might be best if we have a conversation now rather than later. If you don’t mind, that is,” he looked at them with a raised eyebrow before settling back into a swift walk when they nodded and voiced that it was fine, “Congratulations by the way, on graduating and your approaching marriage. I also heard you recently won custody of your siblings?”
“Yes my Lord, and thank you,” Bellatrix’s voice was soft beside Hermione as they walked, “It’s about time that the Ministry managed to do something right.”
“Agreed,” Voldemort chuckled, “Agreed.”
The small path that they turned to wander down was barely wide enough to allow for three people to pass through side by side, Hermione and Bellatrix remaining somewhat behind Voldemort as he walked to allow him some measure of deference, while Dolohov came up the rear. The man had smiled politely when they’d first joined up and shook their hands with a surprisingly gentle grip when they’d arrived, congratulating them both on their accomplishment before stepping backwards to allow them access to his Lord. Hermione understood his rear position to be twofold in reasoning; one to allow them access and privacy with Voldemort if necessary and secondly to provide defense if anything were to happen during their walk.
Not that Hermione thought anything would happen; it was Hogwarts after all, a place unbecoming of danger or intrigue. ‘Or not,’ she wryly thought to herself.
“Yes, there are many things that the Ministry strives to fail at, though I hope this quick meeting can set the beginning of a few… corrections, in motion.” Voldemort’s voice was strong yet somber, a softness suffusing it that was surely intended to lull them into confidence. Hermione settled herself into a calm pace and wrapped an arm up with Bellatrix’s, her ears open but mind wandering as silence set in.
The meandering path eventually ended with them entering Hogsmeade proper; High Street stretching out before them as Voldemort dictated the direction that they moved. He continued down it for a few hundred meters before turning off and down a side road labeled as Rough Head; cobblestones lining the street and ancient brick buildings looming over them on either side. There were a smattering of shops down this way that Hermione managed to recognize; some regional variants of stores she’d shopped at in her past and a few that she knew would one day expand and grow into familiar forms. The one marked difference to High Street was the quality of the buildings and shops; many in far worse shape than the premier establishments on the main strip and likely to stay this way until an influx of villagers could tear them up from their miasmic roots.
Voldemort directed them towards a building covered beneath a thick layer of ivy that grew on all sides with large thistly leaves in a green and golden pattern that seemed to sway and shiver beneath a nonexistent breeze. “This way, if you would. I promise not to take up too much of your time,” Voldemort opened the wooden door to the building, Dolohov shifting ahead of them all to scout the interior.
The interior of the building was a stark contrast to the exterior; homey and warm as could be. The floors and tables were all hardwoods that shone bronze beneath the light of hundreds of candles that floated serenely above their heads while a large fire stood out against the far left well, its hearth crafted from a multitude of granite blocks upon which were carved runes that had been re-etched with gold. Hermione recognized some of them offhand, her classes kicking in and taking over, leading her to determine that it was covered by a precursor to the Floo Network, a visual representation to the magic that had been made more efficient over the centuries. Sitting before the hearth were a multitude of high backed chairs, lounge chaises, even what looked like a Muggle recliner in one corner. The opposite wall had built in booths large enough to easily sit six people to a side, and in front of them lay a long bar top made from what looked like mahogany and behind which stood the barkeep; an old woman with billowing gray hair pulled back into a puffy ponytail who was picking at lint upon her brown apron.
Dolohov set off at a quick pace towards the fire; pulling apart groups of chairs until four had been positioned in a semicircle before the roaring flames, the rest pushed away to afford them privacy. He took up the spot closest to the fire and pointed towards the door, allowing himself a clear view of the layout of the room and entrance in case he needed to protect his master, Bellatrix and Hermione sitting opposite as Voldemort took the only other open seat.
“So,” Voldemort began, “Have either of you any thoughts on taking up my offer?” His voice was even and smooth, face relaxed and bloodshot eyes switching between them both.
Bellatrix shifted in her seat to reach out a hand for Hermione to hold across the gap of their chairs, “We have. And we’ve both come to an agreement on the matter, specifically regarding the year of prior training before joining you.”
Voldemort inclined his head like a predator trying to sort out it’s prey, “Oh?”
“Yes. I believe,” Bellatrix looked over at Hermione before returning her gaze to the Dark Lord, “I believe that we would like to make our decision now; about joining you that is. The year of extra training would be appreciated, but we’d like to pledge ourselves as is.”
That managed to grab his attention. His eyes widened noticeably as he leaned backwards into his high backed chair, surprise and some mixture of smug pleasure radiating across his face. He might have been assured in his confidence that they would end up taking on his offer after a full year underneath him but obviously hadn’t been expecting them to join him so quickly. “And you’re both sure about this? It’s not a decision to be taken lightly, and the effects will have far ranging consequences for the rest of your life.”
“We have, my Lord. After witnessing the multitude of incompetencies that prop up the Ministry,” she paused to accept a glass of amber liquid from the barmaid who’d wandered over, “And Hogwarts, we came to the decision that sooner rather than later was the best path forward.”
Voldemort grinned toothily at them, “Good, good. That will certainly speed up some of our plans, won’t it Antonin?”
The younger man squinted at them both through the thin veil of dirty-brown hair, “Yes my Lord, I believe it will.”
“Mulciber and Rookwood would quite like to meet with you both, and now I suppose the remainder of the inner circle will want to as well,” Voldemort spoke while his features pinched as he sipped from a glass, “Do prepare yourself for an inquisition, Crabbe and Goyle are in a dither over their scions states; they’ll both want to know as much as possible about what could have happened under the old Goat’s nose.”
Hermione barely reacted to his words, so strong was her hold over her reaction to that rather startling bit of news. Or, well, it should have been startling, she realized, seeing as she’d left it unattended as much as she could. Once the DMLE had been unable to apprehend or even determine what, or who, had harmed those poor souls and killed Rodolphus, they’d jumped off of the case and labeled it the work of unknown Dark creatures, their first choice for covering up the fact that they had no leads and nothing at all to go on. The Centaur herd that inhabited the Forest had waved off every attempt by the Ministry to set up a meaningful dialogue and the renegades who spoke to the DMLE were unable to offer anything other than a few samplings of memories that had revealed that they had been much too far away to offer any assistance or warning to the harmed students.
“We’ll offer them what we can, but we were never really friends with those who were hurt,” Hermione spoke up for the first time since entering the pub, “We don’t know much more than rumors put out by the Ministry I’m afraid.”
Voldemort’s voice turned sour as he tilted his head and peered down into his glass, “Well we can sort that all out when we get to it. But first off there are some matters we should discuss if you’re truly eager to pledge yourselves and join the Circle.”
“We truly want this,” Bellatrix spoke up with a carefully crafted fervor straining through her voice and body shifting forward to the edge of her seat, “My Lord we wouldn’t throw this chance away for anything.”
“Be that as it may, there are some things you should know. For now, let’s agree to meet at your estate in three days time. Say quarter past four? Unless you wish to pledge somewhere else, that is,” Voldemort peered at them with an upturned eyebrow and a question on his face.
Hermione took a sip of the powerful liquid in her glass to fortify her resolve for the remainder of this meeting, wincing at the sudden burn sliding on down her throat, “Yes my Lord, that’ll do quite nicely. We’d like to get this all settled before the wedding, and after that we’ll be taking a honeymoon for a short while.”
Dolohov smiled at them both at that, leaving Hermione wondering just where his head was at while Voldemort leaned back and grinned, “Very well then. In three days time we’ll meet up and induct you to the Circle. You are correct in taking this quickly; I wouldn’t dream of interfering with a new couples bond. How long are you planning on being out?”
Hermione smiled in spite of her desire to remain aloof throughout this talk, happy to be able to talk with anyone about their plans who wasn’t Narcissa or Andromeda, “We’ll be gone a month, I believe. We’ve picked out a few stops in America first, and then we’ll do a bit of sightseeing along the Continent. There are a few ritual locations we’d like to visit before coming home, hopefully most will be available for our purposes.”
“Ah,” Voldemort’s face split wide with a shark like grin, “Make sure you stop by Stonehenge as well; I hear this time of year is supposed to be well tuned towards fertility and long-lasting life, if you’re looking for it that is.”
Hermione felt her insides chill into ice as he finished his sentence, ‘Am I really discussing one of us getting pregnant, with the Dark Lord of all people?!’
“Hmph,” Bellatrix cleared her throat, “Thank you for that advice my Lord, we were unaware.” Bellatrix’s voice was even despite the sudden anxiety and embarrassment that Hermione could feel flowing through her scar, her body shifting backwards upon the seat.
Dolohov brought a hand to his chin and began to stroke the stubble growing there, “What are you both planning for the future? Will either of you apply for spots within the Ministry? Abroad? I hear you each came in top marks for your N.E.W.T.S.”
“Well,” Bellatrix began, “We managed to finagle something of a deal with Dumbledore.” Hermione watched as Voldemort’s face grew impassive and stony at the mention of the Headmaster’s name, “He’s uh, he’s agreed to write us both letters of recommendations for whichever Masteries we choose; we’ve both decided to take Ancient Runes, though alongside it I’d like to apply for Defense Against the Dark Arts-”
“-while I’d like to apply for Transfiguration,” Hermione broke in, “We’ve both scored top of our class in those courses and it seems only natural that we try to flesh out our knowledge as best we can.”
Voldemort nodded slowly before sipping from his glass and jostling his foot up and down at a rapid pace, “That’s good. Not enough young people apply for Masteries these days. Too many are subservient to the whims of the Ministry or not even given the chance in the first place. I’d hate to see what our institutions would become if young blood such as yourselves weren’t around to push boundaries. I can help you with those matters,” he set his glass to floating in the air above the arm of his chair, “All three are specific aspects that I’d like to address during your training, though it’ll be much more hands on work than you would receive classically.”
“Thank you my Lord,” Bellatrix grinned at him, “We do have one thing to ask on that front; since we’ve obtained custody of my sisters we’ll need to be within reach of them during the year; specifically we’ll need to reside within Blackhall whenever they aren’t at Hogwarts, at least until they reach their age of Maturity. Andromeda will do so this summer but Narcissa still has four years to go.”
Voldemort looked thoughtfully between them and picked up his floating glass, “That could present somewhat of an issue. Do you both need to be there? Or will one of you suffice?”
“One will,” Bellatrix answered, “So long as the Ministry sees at least one of us there we’ll be golden. And even then I can’t imagine Narcissa remaining home all that time. We’ve yet to repair the bridges that fell when my father died, but I’d like to ask Abraxas about reinstating the betrothal between his son Lucius and Narcissa; she’s quite smitten with him and from what I hear Lucius is the same. I’d hate for my father’s downfall to get in between a love such as theirs.”
“Well I’m sure that I can be of assistance in that matter. Abraxas is part of the Circle, and he’ll join us in three days' time. It’ll be a simple thing to hash out, though I’ll take the liberty of briefing him first so that he’s not caught unaware.”
“Thank you,” Hermione spoke up, “We truly appreciate all that you’ve done for us and all that you’re doing.”
Voldemort waved off her thanks, “Of course my dear; talent such as yours should be nurtured and cultivated to its highest potential, it’d be remiss of me to ignore or refuse to help. And in regards to one of you needing to be at your home, I’m sure we can find a way to work around that.”
“Lovely,” Bellatrix grinned before sipping from her glass.
“Quite. Now; are either one of you aware of the name that our Circle operates under?”
“No, my Lord,” Hermione responded with feigned confusion and interest, her eyes widening as she leaned forward in her set with an air of anticipation.
Voldemort’s voice dropped and he set aside his glass again, Dolohov mimicking his movements as if the non-existent patrons of this pub would hear, “We are known as the Knights of Walpurgis. We are, all of us, a group with a single dedication and purpose. It is our mission through action and words to ensure that our way of life is preserved; both the Dark and the Light. We see absolutely no reason to adopt or mold ourselves to Muggle traditions, sentiments, religions, or mannerisms, except in those rare cases where it would be a boon to adopt or intermingle.”
Voldemort paused and took a sip before continuing his words, “The Ministry has long feared that by including Muggleborns we risk a high chance of exposing ourselves to the wider world; that with their inclusion comes the inherent risk that they could turn on us in an instant. While we won’t say that the assumption is incorrect, they can and some have, the Ministry and our leaders have gone about safeguarding us in a manner that simply doesn’t work. It is our belief that with Grindelwald’s foolish war and the horrors unleashed by the Muggle Second World War, the Ministry has in turn overreacted; Dumbledore first and foremost among them. We aim to change this status quo, shake the world up and show it folly as folly, before rewriting the system. We can go into far greater detail when we meet next, but know that in joining us there is no going back. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity that will last an entire lifetime. Dolohov?”
Dolohov nodded and set his drink aside before shifting forward in his seat and pulling back the left sleeve of his robe to reveal the curve of his muscled forearm, palm tightly in a fist and facing the ceiling. His right hand passed over the space once before skin rippled and darkened to reveal the Mark. The winding serpent protruded from the mouth of a grinning skull, its mouth open and fangs extended as if to bite, the body of the enchanted tattoo writhing and shifting upon his skin.
“The brand you see before you is called the Dark Mark. My Mark,” he stared at them both icily, “It is how we recognize those within the Inner Circle, as you two will soon be. You’ll be the youngest of our group, the next up is Rookwood at twenty-five, but your age shouldn’t preclude you from any of the advantages or responsibilities of the position. Your father,” he nodded at Bellatrix, “Was going to be inducted. He was already a part of the Circle, as was Pierre Lestrange, but he hadn’t yet been marked due to concerns he held. With their deaths, as I said before, the two spots are open and yours for the taking. The Mark is permanent and linked directly to my magic, a constantly open line between myself and those who have it. I’ll go into further detail before the ritual to apply it, if you desire.”
‘Well,’ Hermione thought wryly to herself, ‘It’s now or never.’ Hermione pulled up the cuff of her robe until her left forearm was bared, “My Lord, as lovely as the Mark is, we may have an issue with the placement.”
“How so?” Voldemort’s bloodshot eyes narrowed down to a thin line as he looked back at Hermione, something closely related to anger and fury roiling just beneath the smooth veneer of his pale face.
“Like this,” she dropped the specific portion of her glamour that hid the smooth curve of her forearm brand, keeping the remainder up to hide the scar and further modifications that she’d made. What shone then upon her skin was a thin brand nearly the size of two galleons side by side that depicted a thin knot of whirling loops that twisted inwards from four points; their rather small and particular brand for protection from compulsion charms.
The rune itself was weak and only minimally effective, geared towards variants of compulsion that wouldn’t already be caught out and stopped by the larger grouping of Occlumency runes along their backs. Unfortunately the placement itself had ended up right in the middle of their forearms, a location she hadn’t even been thinking about until they’d pledged themselves towards taking down Voldemort with Dumbledore’s help; suddenly aware that they would likely need to receive the brand and this might cause a conflict.
Both Voldemort and Dolohov were immediately leaning almost off their chairs as they stared at the small mark, Dolohov having to push himself back up in surprise when Bellatrix pushed up her sleeve to reveal the same. Neither man had actually seen an application of the magic the two witches now wore, it was old and exceedingly painful and those parts alone were usually more than enough to push those who knew of it away in search of other methods to solve their problems, off towards other books and cleaner spells that wouldn’t maim if someone messed up the application. When Voldemort’s eyes widened up Hermione realized that he had finally come to understand why she’d bothered bringing it up, his eyes hooded in what she assumed was a range of mental calculus to see how this would interfere with the Mark’s application.
It didn’t help his position since the Mark wasn’t truly a brand, it was a charmed tattoo striking straight through the skin and down to whatever constituted their core; a similar effect to their runes but so different in application that layering one over the other could end in no issue at all or portions of their magic harmed for years to come. And Hermione wasn’t willing to chance that; and she hoped he’d be the same.
Voldemort leaned back in his chair and exhaled wearily, “That may indeed present a problem. The power channeled through the Mark would… Well frankly I don’t know. What does your brand do?”
Bellatrix dropped her sleeve and leaned back in her chair, “This one provides us with a level of immunity towards compulsions.”
“Nothing like the Imperius,” Hermione continued, “And I’ll classify it as only blocking compulsions because this can’t break one that’s set in, only stop the attempt. It should work well on potions or other methods of control that don’t involve base spellwork.”
“That’s a genius little idea,” Dolohov began, “But do you not have your House ring?”
‘What.’
“I do? But,” Hermione dropped her glamour hiding the ring on her finger, “Why would-”
“Your ring should, or at least most do, provide you some level of base protection against the same sort of magics as that rune. Madam Black would need it as she’s not the Head of her House and cannot hold a ring; but you should be covered.”
“Oh…,” Hermione’s voice floundered while her face and neck flushed with an upset heat, ‘The family that raised me were unaware of that, as was I until only a few moments ago.”
“Where were you raised, if you don’t mind me asking?” Dolohov’s voice and words were accompanied by a forceful tilt of his head, his eyes narrowing and body posture stiffening.
She hadn’t ever told them, Hermione realized with somewhat of a shock, Voldemort had never once asked her where she’d come from or how she’d ended up in Britain; an inaction that she’d taken to mean that he’d read the falsified report that sat somewhere deep within the Ministry. Those reports and folders all contained a series of doctored documents with forged signatures and testimonials that Dumbledore had set up from inside the Canadian Ministry back when she had first arrived at the Castle, a backlog of history for anyone who cared so much as to look into her, or a quick check in by any potential employers.
Bellatrix leaned backwards into her chair with one leg crossed over the other while she nursed her glass of liquor, the slight jiggle of her foot being the only thing to show the nerves she felt beneath her forced calm.
“My parents were poor, mostly by choice but partly due to circumstances. They each had abandoned their family holdings in Canada for a single plot of land in the United States.” Hermione composed herself and threw her emotions into mimicking what she thought someone emotional and unsure of bringing up their past would act, “They didn’t take much with them and had absolutely no intention of ever returning to their family. Had they not died I doubt I would have ever discovered anything at all about my family’s past, or made my way here.”
“Such a shame that is,” Voldemort relaxed his posture and looked at them both with downturned eyes, “Losing one’s parents is never easy.”
Dolohov finally relaxed before nodding stiffly in her direction, something close to empathy and sympathy crossing his stony features, “Ah. I know the feeling well. Both of my parents died back when I was a young boy; it messed me right up, and the Wizarding orphanages that came afterwards weren’t the greatest places, especially not on the Continent. My life was a load of manticore gówno, least until my Lord saved me. That was what,” he looked over at Voldemort, seven, eight years ago?”
“Eight, if I remember correctly,” Voldemort gained what could loosely be described as a genuine smile, “He was attempting to enter a forbidden grove tended to by a cabal of wandmakers that hailed from Albania.”
Dolohov breathlessly laughed, “I had the ever bright idea to wander inside and skim material to create my own wand, thought I could be in and out without anyone ever being the wiser. Turns out though that many wandmakers are extremely selective in their choice of wood, and they’ll defend them until the death.”
“Antonin’s great idea was to jump a fence blanketed with a tripwire wardline after night fell, something he thought through greatly, as you can see.”
“Was a terrible idea it was, absolutely wouldn’t have worked and I’d have ended up spelled to death before reaching the ground. But all that’s besides the point; I know what it’s like to lose the ones who’re supposed to support you most. If either of you need anything, even if it’s just to vent your frustrations, I’ll make myself available.” He nodded at the end before sitting fully back into his chair and finishing his glass in a single sip, the empty vessel floating midair when he was finished.
In that one specific moment Hermione could feel the whole of her mind, every bit and piece of information or opinion or intuition, come crashing down into a pile. On the one hand the interrogation that she’d been dreading had dematerialized; turned back into wisps by Voldemort and Dolohov’s words. On the other hand this man would one day go on to murder many, many people. He was by all accounts an unrepentant murderer more ruthless than Lestrange had been and absolutely sociopathic, not a single ounce of empathy in his body.
And here he was offering her support. A shoulder to lean on.
‘I’ve really gone round the fucking bend, haven’t I? I’m being comforted by a murderer. Or… Is he even a murderer yet? Does that happen later?’ She didn’t know.
As quick as she could she placed a placating smile on her face and tears in her eyes, cheeks pulling tightly as she sought to keep her mind still, “Thank you so very much for the offer Mr. Dolohov-”
“Please,” he interrupted, “Call me Antonin.”
“-ah, thank you, Antonin. If anything comes up, you’ll be the first to know.”
Dolohov nodded in confirmation, his mouth twitching to continue speaking until they were all interrupted by the sudden realization that they weren’t the only ones inside the unnamed pub. Or rather that there was a front door.
The wooden entrance opened wide as a tall man with wispy gray hair and skin the color of aged wheat stepped into the small room, his eyes a pair of black beads that searched the space before landing on their little grouping. Dolohov and Voldemort were as taken by the interloper as Hermione and Bellatrix, and only seemed to remember their manners as he approached them at a quick clip. Voldemort came to his senses first, hand shooting out to grab another of the chairs that Dolohov had pushed away and setting it in between the two sides as he stood and thrust a hand out to the approaching man.
“Lord Voldemort, Dolohov. How lovely it is to see you both here today,” the man spoke, his voice as rough and baritone as it could be. There was nothing grandfatherly or kind about his air; a darkness instead shrouding his every movement and every word, something sinister and yet in the same breath still calming.
“Lord Ibran,” Voldemort shook his hand, “What a pleasure to see you again.”
Lord Ibran smiled, “Likewise, likewise. Though I must ask; who are these two lovely ladies?” He turned to stare them down with an odd glow in his dark eyes, a shark's grin stretching across his face to reveal too white teeth, “Recently graduated, eh? Slytherin’s by the colors, unless my old age has finally caught up with my sight. I am Lord Marcus Ibran,” he tipped his head to each of them in turn, “The Cabinet Chief for the Department of Muggle Reconnaissance.”
Bellatrix stared at the odd man with wide eyes and confusion coloring her face, “That’s not a department I think I’ve ever heard of before.”
“Good,” Ibran laughed, “Then it seems I’m doing my job quite well.”
“Lord Ibran is a transplant from America, come to join us not that long ago,” Voldemort retook his seat, “A good man and a good Lord, though a bit boastful if you ask me.”
“Ah, but no one asked you, eh?” Ibran laughed out again in a booming baritone, “He is correct though, I’m originally from San Francisco, transplanted only ten years ago though it does feel like quite a good deal more than that.”
“As it always does,” Voldemort spoke before turning to them both, “Madam Black, Grenier, I do so thank you for indulging me this afternoon; I hope our upcoming meeting will go just as smoothly.” With that said he turned his attention to Ibran, the clear dismissal evident in his body language as Hermione and Bellatrix stood up from their chairs and passed the men by.
“Thank you for seeing us today, my Lord. We hope the remainder of your day is just as pleasant. Antonin,” Hermione inclined her head towards the pale man, “Lord Ibran.”
---
It wasn’t even three steps outside the rickety wooden establishment that Hermione felt her inner strength collapse as she leaned over into Bellatrix for support, one arm wrapping around her own as they interlaced their fingers and headed off back towards High Street. In a word, she was dumbfounded. Absolutely gobsmacked after the past afternoon of talking; from meeting with Voldemort far sooner than they’d intended, to revealing the nature of their runes and Dolohov’s sympathy, this day had been far more taxing than originally intended.
“So,” Bellatrix began.
“So,” Hermione mimicked.
As they walked Bellatrix twisted her head to press a soft kiss against the fluffy curls atop Hermione’s head, her voice silent before she breathed in deeply and began, “Are we going to talk about any of that at all?”
“Nope!” Hermione stood straighter and pulled on Bellatrix’s arm, “We’re going to go home, prep for their arrival, plan some more for the wedding, pass out, and then if you’re lucky I’m going to jump your bones like there’s no tomorrow.
“Hmm,” Bellatrix practically purred, “Sounds like a good course of action to me.”
“Everything I suggest is a good course of action.”
Bellatrix grinned and extracted her arm from Hermione’s grasp before rolling the length of it over her shoulder to pull her in closer against her side, Hermione’s own arm coming up behind her to hold her hip, “Very true, though I’d dispute it if I didn’t have access to your memories. But,” she squeezed once, “I do have some reservations about revealing our runes…”
“He’ll have figured them out eventually and it would look weirder if we brought it up later, or gods forbid, right before the marking. And besides, I really don’t want to find out how badly those two magics might interact. I’ve not read very much on the application of magical tattoos’ interactions with runic brands but I’m sure there’ll be something at home-”
“Pet,” Belaltrix leaned in to nip at Hermione’s earlobe, “You’re about to start rambling.”
“Sorry,” Hermione breathed in deeply to keep herself steady.
“Don’t apologize, least of all to me. It’s just that there are many more things I’d rather hear coming from your throat right now.”
“Oh really?” Hermione shot her a scandalous look that quickly dissolved into giggles, “Like what?”
“My name, some choice curses, panting and gasps,” Bellatrix smirked over at her, “Those sorts of sounds.”
“You do realize that your sisters are waiting for us at home, right? And we've less than two hours?”
“Of course I do,” Bellatrix tightened her hold and prepared to Apparate, “That’s why we have magic, love.”