Chapter 21: Of Lairds and LoversSummary:
Hermione has an interesting meeting and talks with Fleur
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione had a bounce in her step as she went to talk to her transfiguration professor. Her face ached from how much she had smiled after Fleur's performance. Their adjustments to the sleeping spell had made it take far longer, but she had danced away from the dragon's flames while keeping her wandwork perfect. Fleur had then simply walked up, grabbed the golden egg, and walked back, completely unharmed. Had it not been for Karkarov her scores would have been perfect. Still, she held the lead with forty-seven points. Upon walking off the field, Fleur had hugged Gabby and then kissed Hermione, who was still smiling from the memory.
The office door was made of a dark hawthorn, beautifully lacquered and subtly Scottish. Not unlike the woman behind it.
"Ah, Miss Slytherin," said professor began. "I am surprised you are not partaking in the festivities." Hermione looked up at the professor, surprised she would be so underhanded.
"I am surprised you would suggest such a thing," Hermione responded. "Laird McGonagall." The professor's eyes widened as she looked up and down the hall, scanning for observers.
"Socair," the younger witch said with a smile and a faint burr. "I am not so foolish as to use that title without a ward." McGonagall looked around, then looked down at the young lass.
"And why would ya go usin' tha word at all?"
"It is your proper title," Hermione said before continuing, her voice much quieter. "And one of mine as well. Shall we continue in your office?"
"Better than in tha open," the older witch grumbled, her accent thicker than any student had heard it. She opened the door wide enough for Hermione to squeeze through, then closed it and began casting wards. Hermione watched as she did before adding her own.
" Ballanas sàmhchair ," she uttered, her wand moving through three perfect curves to form a wave as she spoke. There was a sense of power as the spell reached the door, extending around it and through the holes, divots, and hiding places within the walls.
"Laird McGonagall," Hermione said, calling her professor back from the door. "Are you a fan of tartan?"
"Why might ye be askin' that?" McGonagall asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I quite happen to enjoy the pattern," Hermione continued. "Especially in long, versatile quilts that can be made into kilts." She turned, her eyes boring into those of Laird Minerva McGonagall. "I also enjoy Scots gaelic, Irish gaelic, Ogham, Celtic numerology, the festivals of Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane and Lughnasadh, and ritual magic." She paused, watching as the wide-eyed scottish professor absorbed this new set of information.
"Of course," Hermione said with a small smile. "I will deny all this should you mention it to any good, Christian authority figure. I have the feeling you wouldn't do that thought. After all, you have been funding Laird Aedaera's attempts to educate the gaelic-speaking muggleborns. You practice the Celtic rituals and are fluent in both Scots and Irish Gaelic. I trust I can trust you?"
"Miss Slytherin," McGonagall said, her voice clipped. "Is there a point to this besides a display of dangerous knowledge?" Hermione smirked for a moment before it slid away. She took a breath, closing her eyes before she opened them, looking up into those of her professor.
"Professor," she began softly. "Laird. I hold the inheritance of six Wizengamot seats, and I am a mated Erinyes. Within a year I will need to flee, die, or fight."
"And ye plan on fighting." It wasn't a question, but Hermione responded anyway.
"Aye. But I won't be fighting just to survive. England's had a supermajority on the Wizengamot since the 18th century and even the lightest of our sacred rituals have been banned since the time of the Tudors. Our culture is banned, our languages banned, our rituals, religion, writing, even our numerology is banned."
"Aye, 'tis," McGonagall said, a fire lit within her eyes. "Blacks an' McMillans the only damn Scots on the council, but the Black's been lyin' in the heathers an' the McMillans ain't worth a pound a spoiled haggis."
"How's about we bring us back?" Hermione asked, her smiled wide and devious, the amethyst flecks in her eyes sparkling. "Show the bloody poms it takes more than a trampling to keep the Scots down." McGonagall smiled, pouring herself some whiskey.
"To the Celts," she said, raising her glass before downing it whole. She sighed, looking into it before raising her gaze to once again meet Hermione's. "Now then," she said. "How on the gods green earth did ya manage to inherit six seats at the age of fifteen?"
"Well," Hermione said, taking a seat. "Turns out my mum's Bellatrix Black." She was glad for her shield charm a moment later when McGonagall spewed whiskey from across the room.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"'Ermione." Fleur's voice was silklike as it wafted over the palatial room within the Beauxbatons carriage.
"Fleur," Hermione responded with a smile. She turned from the bookshelf, making her way across the carpeted room to the four-poster bed. "How are you?"
"Tired," Fleur responded as Hermione sat by her side. Hermione's hands wove through her hair, easing the knots that had built up during her long rest.
"I know," Hermione replied with a gentle smile, one that started at her lips and extended to her eyes, so soft and focused. Fleur stared into them, drowning in the brown depths and amethyst shallows. "I'm sorry love, I saw it afterwards. I missed a simplification, the wand movement would have--"
"Shhh," Fleur said, pulling Hermione down towards her, letting the younger witch's head rest upon her chest. "You did nothing wrong, mon coeur. I am still here, and in ze lead." Her hands wove through the sobbing witch's hair even as her tears soaked into the bedsheets.
"But--" Hermione began, taking in a large breath, trying to steady herself. "I--you could have died , Fleur. Spellcrafting and rituals--if you get it wrong. . . I--" Her body broke into a sob, clutching at Fleur, trying to grab her, to secure her hold onto her. "I can't lose you," she said in a voice so small it was nearly nonexistent. Her watery eyes raised to meet Fleur's. "I have an imprisoned mother and a mad father. I--unconditional love isn't something I understand. I never--I--"
"Hush," Fleur said. Her voice was soft and flowing. It struck Hermione at her core. She sank into Fleur's inviting arms, her sobs absorbed into the older girl's chest as Fleur held her close and Hermione pulled Fleur closer. "I'll never leave you." Hermione clutched Fleur closer to her, her arms wrapping under Fleur's body, pulling them closer together. No words came when she opened her mouth, only a soft and purring hiss.
Notes:
Everyone who's been commenting: I read every comment and I love them all. If I don't reply, it's because I don't know how to handle compliments.
Thanks!
Chapter 22: Of Dates and Honor DuelsSummary:
Hermione and Fleur's relationship progresses, and a Gryffindor idiot tries to interfere
Chapter Text
Divination did not come naturally to Hermione. She was too rigid, too logical, too set, not in her ways but in her idea of what a way was. It took mental flexibility, often to the point of insanity, to be a true seer.
Nonetheless Hermione found herself with a handful of rune-bones and an extensive circle of old Scots Gaelic, written in Ogham. " Air sgàth na màthar ," Hermione chanted, placing a drop of blood on each bone. " Leig fuil na h-ìnghe a nàdar fhoillseachadh ." She felt magic pooling from her soul, flowing out into the bones as they hopped around the runes. Hermione grimaced as the magic poured out of her. It was draining, even worse than when she had given herself the first basilisk-blood tattoo. She imagined it would be easier for someone less rigid, like Daphne, or someone of debatable sanity, like Luna Lovegood. She was, however, like her mother in that respect--unyielding.
Looking down, Hermione read the runes from where they had landed, sighing with relief. Blackthorn, that wouldn't be hard to get. The core would be easy to get, though it would take some time. She'd have to wait until she matured. Then again, the entire project would have to wait until she'd matured. Hermione was a smart and powerful witch, but nowhere near where she would be once her creature inheritance came into full effect. There was a reason Fleur was chosen as the Beauxbatons champion, and it wasn't just her looks.
Hermione rolled her eyes, this time at herself. When had she started sounding like a male quidditch player? Fucking mates.
Or not. Hermione shivered. She wasn't ready for that, much as she wanted to be. Too many bad experiences. Even with the past three years of therapy she wasn't ready. She felt tears welling up as she shook and tried to force the memories away.
Suddenly strong arms wrapped around her, holding her close. Her head rested against a warm chest. Her fears dissolved even as her thoughts remained. Her eyes, nestled into her mate's chest, continued to leak tears.
"Shh," her mate said lovingly, one hand holding her close, the other gently petting her hair. "It's alright mon coeur."
A few moments later the young witch in question pulled back slightly, looking up into the stark blue eyes of her mate.
"I--" Hermione coughed, clearing her throat, and shook her head. "I owe you more than I could ever repay," she said softly. "I think I would have gone insane when I found out about my parents."
"'Ermione," Fleur said gently, cupping the younger witch's face, raising her chin to meet her eyes once more. "We owe each other everything and nothing. We are mates, mon coeur. I will be zere for you, always and forever, just as you will be for me."
"Always and forever," Hermione echoed with a faint smile, soon outshined by Fleur massive one. Her own smile growing, Hermione pressed forward, sealing her lips to those of her mate. Fleur hummed in happiness, her veela freeing itself within her. She pressed back, deepening the kiss, her hands moving to hold Hermione closer, teasing down the hidden line of runes on her ribs. Hermione mewled softly into Fleur's mouth, arching her back. Fleur left her mate's mouth, Hermione opening her own in protest, only to be silenced by her own moan as her eyes fluttered shut and Fleur kissed down her neck. Her back arched again, her breasts pushing into Fleur's chest.
"Fl-Fleur," Hermione said, her voice shaking. Fleur's head rose, her eyes meeting those of her mate. "I--I l-" Hermione took in a deep breath before continuing, her voice small, soft, and afraid. "I love you." Fleur's eyes widened before her arms reclaimed their previous positions, pulling Hermione close, embracing her tightly. Neither she nor her veela would let this precious little witch go.
"Mon coeur," Fleur whispered into Hermione's ear as she pulled the younger witch tighter. "I love you too." Hermione's eyes flickered down to Fleur's, wide as saucers. Her smile was wide and bright as the sun, her magic flowing out around her. Her body seemed to glow with a pink-purple light. She leaned in quickly, reattaching her lips to Fleur's, her tongue extending into her mate's waiting mouth, soon entangling with Fleur's tongue. Both young witches clawed at each other, fighting to bring themselves close, closer, possibly more so than ever. Their creatures took over, kissing and marking across necks and chests, instinctively aware of how far would be too far. Hermione's finger scraped down Fleur's side, leaving long red lines of raw flesh. Fleur gripped into her shoulders, pulling at the flesh between her shoulder blade, nails digging in deep as the two sought to be closer than was yet possible.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hermione was sitting in an empty classroom, sketching out her concentric circles. She had the numerology and arithmancy figured out. The phrasing was more difficult. The outer circle had fifty-one letters. The next one had forty-five, then thirty-nine, twenty-seven, and thirteen. Using thirteen letters was irregular and risky, but if she could make it work she could slice through Azkaban's wards like a knife through butter.
The classroom door opened then quickly slammed shut. The slam was quickly followed by a series of rapid-fire locking and silencing wards, then a heavy sigh.
"Mes dieux," Fleur said, collapsing into a chair next to Hermione. "The task was nothing compared to this."
"And what is this?" Hermione asked without looking up. Fleur sighed again and leaned, resting her head on Hermione's shoulder.
"Every damn boy 'as asked me to ze ball," she said in an exhausted tone. "It iz getting ridiculous. Bons dieux, 'ave they not noticed 'o I spend my time with?"
"Apparently not," Hermione said, casting a quick drying charm. Blowing to make sure everything was stable, she rolled up the parchment, placing it inside her robes as she turned to Fleur. A smirk played along her lips, her amethyst flecks sparkling with mischief. "Perhaps we should show them just how off-limits you are?" Fleur's face lit up with a smirk, her eyes shining bright. She grabbed Hermione's hand and led the two of them out, dissolving her wards and opening the door.
"Après vous," Hermione said, gesturing for Fleur to exit.
"I think we are not quite zat formal, mon coeur," Fleur replied, drawing a smirk across Hermione's face. Unfortunately, by turning to reply to her mate, Fleur stumbled into the waiting trap of Gryffindors.
" Be my Yulagy! " the giant sign read. A tall, broad-shouldered man with curly brown hair stood in front of it, smiling broadly. Fleur blinked, frowning at the sign. Hermione was right behind her with a far angrier expression.
"McLaggen," the younger witch said with a growl, glaring at him. The older boy flinched before recovering, turning towards Fleur.
"Cormac McLaggen, as I'm sure you know," he said with a cock-shure grin, then bowed. "Might I have the honor of accompanying you to the Yule Ball?"
"No." McLaggen blinked, then rose.
"No?" he asked.
"No," Hermione said, answering for Fleur, her voice tight and eyes burning as they glared across the hallway. "She will not be going to the Yule Ball with you. If you still do not understand, I recommend you consult a dictionary. One of your friends should be capable of reading it to you."
"Listen here," McLaggen said, reaching for his wand. Hermione had hers out in an instant, the pale wood pointing directly at him. McLaggen swallowed and raised his hand, backing up slowly.
"Good boy," Hermione said with a smile, sheathing her wand. She turned to Fleur, a different sort of smile on her face.
"Mo chridhe," Hermione said, looking up at Fleur's dark blue eyes. "Would you honor me with being your escort to this. . . Yule Ball?"
"Gladly," Fleur said with a soft smile observed by an eerily silent hallway.
"WHAT?!" McLaggen said, his voice exploding across the silence. "You're going with that fucking mudblood dyke ?!" There mutterings of agreement from many of the men up and down the hall and silence from those who thought he had gone too far.
"Mr. McLaggen," Hermione said, a broad and innocent-looking smile plastered across her face while fire danced within her eyes. "Are you challenging me to a duel?"
"Dykes don't have honor duels," McLaggen said, thrown off by her eyes. "They d-don't have honor."
"How about Ladies of the House of Slytherin?" Silence echoed across the hall as the student body stared at the two, wands drawn.
"They don't have much either," McLaggen said, his cockshure air back. Hermione's smile widened. He clearly hadn't noticed her wording.
"If you would clear the hallway, please," she said, turning towards the student body. "I would hate for someone to get caught in the spellfire." There was a general shuffling, followed by a few pounding footsteps as someone likely ran to grab a professor.
"Thank you," Hermione said, turning back to McLaggen. "Is now an acceptable time for you?" McLaggen shifted foot to foot. He was strong, confident, the best in the world. But there was something about this witch that threw him off. But she had challenged him, in the halls, in public. He couldn't back down, not now. Not with Gryffindor pride on the line! Drawing himself up and readying his wand, Cormac McLaggen nodded, then bowed minutely, matched by his opponent. He readied himself, forming a defensive position. She did nothing. Cormac smiled and stepped, his wand moving the moment his foot left the ground.
There was a bang and he landed hard on his back, sliding another few feet. His wand was gone, his robes were in Slytherin colors, and people were laughing, pointing at something on his forehead.
"I felt a label might be helpful," the damned witch said. He turned and caught a glace at himself on the reflective marble walls. Across his forehead, printed in big block letters was the word, " Idiot ." The Slytherin dropped his wand, letting it roll towards him, and pulled the french girl--the one he should be going with--into a smoulder kiss, each of them leaning into the embrace, if only for a few seconds. Then, with a wink, they left. It took everyone a moment to get over what they just saw. A moment that was interrupted when Professor McGonagall came bursting into the room.
"Why is everyone just standing about?!" she asked. Everyone began to move, including Cormac, who scrambled after his wand. McLaggen had gotten trounced for a few insults. No one wanted to learn what revenge would be for a month's worth of detentions.
Chapter 23: (Another) Train RideSummary:
The train ride back for a brief Yuletide
Notes:
It's a two-chapter update! I've been writing a lot in this story lately; finally got over some plot indecision I was dealing with. To celebrate that and my birthday, you all get a bonus chapter, albeit a short one! Enjoy~
Chapter Text
Gods alone knew why they had planned the Yule Ball for Christmas Day. It wasn't a holiday that Hermione actually celebrated, but even she could understand that the assumption that no one would want to go home and see their families was more than a little absurd. Hence, after many protests and complaints lodged with the Ministry, the Board, and the school itself, classes were being let out on the 16th, with a train headed back to Hogwarts on the 23rd for those who wished to take part in the ball and see their families.
Heading back felt odd to Hermione. Not as odd or confusing as when she had realized the Malfoys took her in because they actually wanted to, not to gain public goodwill or to exploit her, but still quite odd. The 'family' she had been with for the last two and a half years was now actually her family. Even if she didn't have business at Gringotts she would have happily gone back for the break.
"It's strange, seeing you without a French girl on your side." Hermione turned towards the carriage's entrance, where Daphne stood, caustic remark signalling her entrance.
"Aw, Daph," Hermione said with a sickly sweet tone. "Are you jealous?"
"As if," Daphne said with a huff. "I am not one to be a kept woman."
"I suppose I'll need to talk to Fleur about a thre--" Hermione quieted immediately as Daphne shot her a glare, then started laughing uncontrollably.
"Oh, come off it Daphne," Hermione said with a smile. "You know I'm too possessive to let something like that happen."
"So is she, by the looks of it," Daphne replied, sitting down. "You haven't asked about anything gossip-related in weeks. I'm beginning to think my efforts aren't being valued," she finished with a pout.
"I really do appreciate your expertise with the rumor mill, but hasn't it all been about the tournament?"
"Not all of it," Daphne said with a smirk. "There's a fair amount about you, especially after you threw McLaggen around. Slytherins are unsurprised, given how you threw Nott through a door second year, Hufflepuffs are mostly glad you took care of the prick, Ravenclaws want to know what spell you used, and Gryffindor is split between defending a housemate and being glad someone dealt with that prat."
"What are the odds they figure out the spell?"
"Next to none, considering it was probably one of your 'I wave and I want," Daphne said, rolling her eyes. Hermione grinned back at her, then shrugged.
"It was. Still can't do much like that though."
"Can't--Hermione, using spells to do that I would--"
"That's because the spells are meant for much large things," Hermione said, cutting her friend off. "The knockback jinx is meant to shove a two-hundred pound man back eighty feet. Color transfiguration is meant to change entire rooms. The writing--well, the writing spell is different. But it takes energy to constrain the knockback jinx into only throwing someone a few yards and to constrain color transfiguration spells into a single robe. Don't use the spell and you don't have to spend the energy to constrain it."
"You're saying it's easier to throw someone back eighty feet than six?" Daphne asked incredulously.
"Yes and no," Hermione replied. "It takes magical energy to push someone back. If you don't have much or you get the spell wrong, you'll only push someone back a little ways. If you have enough power but don't want to use it all, it takes mental focus and energy. It's just as easy to collapse from mental strain after a duel as it is to collapse from magical exhaustion."
"Well then," Daphne said. "So, have any big plans?"
"Just some business with the goblins," Hermione replied with a slight smirk.
"You might be the only person who finds that enjoyable."
"I'm just the only one they like," Hermione replied. "I even have their grin down. See?" she asked, contorting her face into a devilishly sharp grin, her eyes glittering with . . . something. A shiver went down Daphne's spine.
"Oh, that's their grin alright," the blonde witch said. "Gods alone know why you'd want to use it." Hermione grinned at her and pet Lasya's scales as she slept. Her familiar was made for the jungles of South Asia, not the winters of Britain.
"Oh, just for fun," Hermione said, Daphne shivering once more at the grin. "Never know when it'll come in handy."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Hermione!" a smiling voice called. The witch in question turned, returning the blonde witch's smile. She walked up to her aunt and gave her a big hug.
"Aunt Cissa," Hermione said, smile still shining in her eyes. "It feels even better to call you that now."
" Brrr, " commented Lasya, awoken by the sudden movements. She moved closer, snaking up around Cissa's neck, pulling the two witches closer. " Should have known you were family ," she said, her head nuzzling into Cissa's neck. " You smell alike. "
"What did she say?" Cissa asked as Lasya' cool scales rubbed against her neck.
"She's embarrassed she didn't figure it out," Hermione said with a smile. "Apparently we smell alike."
"Is that so?" Cissa asked, an eyebrow raised. "It's just as well. Bella often smelled of alcohol and cigarettes."
"Ah," Hermione replied. "That explains a lot."
The two witches linked arms and walked out of Platform 9 ¾, apparating to Diagon Ally.
Unnoticed by the witches, two blond wizards shivered in their wake.
"I don't like this," the younger said, looking up at his father. "She hasn't told me anything, neither has mother." Lucius sighed, looking down at his son.
"Keep your innocence a little longer, my son," he said, looking up to where his wife and her niece had stood. "You know not how much you will miss it when it's gone."
Chapter 24: Goblins and Lord(Lady)shipsSummary:
Hermione and her Aunt Cissa visit Gringotts
Chapter Text
"So," Narcissa Malfoy said in a hushed tone. The two witches had apparated to Diagon Ally, then calmly walked into Gringotts and asked for a meeting with Count Rigoll. They were currently waiting in his office. "What is it you couldn't say in the letter?" Hermione sighed. Best rip the bandaid off, she supposed.
"Creature inheritance." Narcissa bit her lip.
"Which--"
"Erinyes."
"Fuck," Cissa swore softly, letting out a heavy sigh. "They're--"
"Banned outright, I know. I've met my mate."
"Who?"
"Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion."
"Fate made a good choice," Cissa said with a smirk. "If I was a few years younger . . ."
"There's always her aunt," Hermione commented. "Widowed half-Veela."
"Lucius--"
"Fine, wait until he's dead. My father might kill him soon for that stunt with the diary."
"Oh gods," Cissa said. "The one that--"
"Caused Hogwarts to almost shut down, yes that one. It was one of my father's horcruxes, I think, and your husband threw it into settling a petty feud with a family that his money should have quashed a decade ago."
"You're sounding more and more like your mother," Cissa said. "I'm not sure that's a good thing." Hermione shrugged.
"The other thing was about our history," Hermione said.
"I know the Blacks came from Scotland," Cissa said. "I know you've been talking to people, wooing McGonagall and courting that irish Gryffindor with a penchant for explosions, what's his name--"
"Seamus Finnigan."
"That one. Is this truly how you want to do things? Many of your father's supporters are hardened anglicans, they will not take kindly to a revival of gaelic culture."
"They took to it well enough when he started the Knight of Walpurgis."
"Saying you want to have a bonfire on Beltane and a party for Samhain and Yule is different from bringing back Gaelic rituals and tartans."
"Roman and Germanic rituals are banned as well."
"I hope you know what you're doing," Narcissa said with a sigh. "Though if you don't, at least someone will kill Yaxley."
"Not a fan?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. Cissa let out a bitter laugh.
"He spends more time brown nosing than Lucius." Hermione let out a laugh. It was hard to imagine, Lucius treated sucking up like a full-time job.
"Lady Malfoy," a voice remarked as the door opened. Count Rigoll walked towards his desk. "Duchess Black. Good to see you both."
"Count Rigoll," Hermione replied. "How long would it take to get all of my residential holdings up and running?"
"Depends how much you're willing to pay," he replied with a toothy grin.
"Money is of little object, save for the principle of getting a good price. Add on a full-scale warding system, by the way." Rigoll whistled.
"Five months, three million galleons."
"Three?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. "Too much. One."
"Two and a half."
"Two, and you supply all the equipment and pay the contactors yourselves."
"Done."
"Good," Hermione said with a smile. "Take it out of Vault Zero. Now, regarding my investments. I want anything that can be seized by the British Ministry transferred to something that can't."
"We can do that," Count Rigoll said. "Setting up a few shell companies would be the simplest way." Hermione nodded.
"Do it." Hermione stood, letting her back stretch upwards. "Is there anything else before we visit my vaults?"
"Just one more, Lady Slytherin. Will you be claiming your titles?" Hermione paused, thinking.
"If I do, will the Ministry be notified?"
"Not by us."
"Will the Wizengamot?"
"Not by us."
"Will anyone?"
"Gringotts is not in the letter-writing business," Count Rigoll said. Hermione stared him down. There was a pause, then she rolled a thin piece of elm towards the count, who snatched it up. "We will inform our King, and no one else." Hermione tilted her head, seeming to weigh her options. Lasya peeked out of her sleeve.
" It would give you more room to maneuver, " the eight-foot long Occamy said, ignoring the wide-eyed stare of Count Rigoll.
" True, " Hermione said, running her hand down Lasya's scales. " But Dumbledore might find out. "
" That is always a possibility, " Lasya countered. " Do it now, he cannot steal your chairs while you are away. Your mother's clutchmate can place herself there. " Hermione grinned at Lasya before turning towards Rigoll.
"I will claim them now," she said. Rigoll nodded, then left the room. Hermione remained standing for a moment, then sat back down, twidling her fingers while she waited.
When Rigoll returned he held six wooden boxes stacked upon each other. They wobbled as he walked hurriedly before placing them gingerly on the table. Carefully opening the first he presented it to her. Hermione looked down at the silver ring, black gem in the center, the words "Toujours Purs" carved into the stone. Putting it on Hermione felt a shiver go down her spine and heard the faint voices of her ancestors, egging her on towards darkness and greatness.
The next box contained a ring of silver with an emerald in the middle, a writhing serpent carved in. Hermione bit back a shudder as she put on the Gaunt family ring, hundreds of years of inbreeding and poor decisions washing over her, the elder ancestors demanding that she right the wrongs of their descendants. A band of gold and a clear diamond with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows marked the Peverell ring. It slid on like a cool breeze, sweeping into her soul. Her eyes opened. Everything felt clearer.
The Ravenclaw ring was made of bronze and sapphires, the Rosier from silver and rubies, the Slytherin ring of platinum and emeralds. Each slid on, one after the other, magic washing over her and supplementing her own. As she placed each one upon her ring finger it disappeared, accepting her as the Lady of the House, vanishing until such time as she would call it forth.
"Well then," Hermione said with a smile. "Shall we visit the vaults?"
Chapter 25: Wands and WitchesSummary:
Hermione continues her plans, plus a sneak peak into Lucius Malfoy's thoughts
Notes:
I've gotten really ahead on the writing for this story and I'm in an editing mood, so y'all are gonna get a lot of updates today
Chapter Text
Lucius Malfoy paced back and forth over the rug in his study. Strong privacy and silencing wards were over the door, along with a series of protections to ensure his wife and her niece wouldn't enter.
"Lucius, would you stop that?" Lucius turned, looking his old friend in the eyes. Where Lucius' were a steel grey, Severus bore the inky irises of his mother house. "Now sit down, pour yourself a drink, and tell me why you're so worried."
"Why am I worried?" Lucius asked incredulously. "Good lord Severus, the Dark Lord is returning . He is already back in one form or another and I spent the past thirteen years claiming an imperius defense while devoutly ignoring both him and the apparent mother of his child!"
"So you've mentioned," Severus replied dryly. "Many others have done the same. But you took his daughter in and raised her these past three years."
"Only at your and Narcissa's prodding," Lucius mumbled, then shivered. "He's coming back, and he'll want something from me. Possibly everything."
"True," Severus conceded. "Is that why you're worried?"
"No. I---Severus, you can't tell anyone about this, understood?" His friend blinked, but nodded, and Lucius continued in a hushed tone. "I didn't get off on just the imperius defense. I heard that Bellatrix would be attacking the Longbottoms, gave that information away to get Dumbledore's blessing behind my innocence."
For a moment all Severus could do was stare. Was Lucius really that much of a dunderhead? He easily could have bribed his way to a deadlock, if not a clean exoneration. Instead he had given away the Dark Lord's right hand, his own sister-in-law. Who had most likely been followed and had her child---
"Lucius," Severus began. "Give me the firewhisky." If he had to deal with this, alcohol was the least Lucius could give him in return.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hermione and Narcissa exited Gringotts, one smiling and holding a small bag close, the other's face forcibly blank.
"Did you really have to visit every vault?" Narcissa grumbled. "You knew the Gaunts were poor and too paranoid to keep the family grimoire at Gringotts."
"Better safe than sorry," Hermione replied cheerfully. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to meet with Mr. Ollivander."
"I don't think the Gringotts carts count as safe," Narcissa grumbled, but waved Hermione off just the same.
The door to Ollivander's jingled the same way it had three years ago. It swung on the same hinges, made the same sounds, revealed the same shelves stacked with mostly the same wands, all waiting to be chosen--or was it waiting to choose? The same silver eyes and white hair greeted her behind the counter.
"Ah, yes. Hermione, no last name, now Slytherin," Mr. Ollivander said. "Redwood with red oak runes, basilisk fang. Twelve and three-quarters, firm but resilient. Still working well?"
"Like a charm," Hermione responded. Ollivander smiled.
"What brings you to my shop, Miss Slytherin?"
"I have need of some custom wands," she replied. Mr. Ollivander raised his eyebrows.
"Custom wands?" he asked. "Is yours--"
"The users have already been read," she said, cutting him off. She handed a roll of parchment, which he unfurled carefully.
"Hmm," he said, stroking his chin. "Curious, most curious. Second wands, all of them. Blackthorn, elm, and yew. No core for the blackthorn--most curious indeed--phoenix feather, and rougarou hair. Curious, most curious. Ah," he said, breaking out of his trance, looking up at Hermione. "I can have these done by. . . March, shall we say? The blackthorn I can give you know. Thirty galleons for them please." Hermione smiled and pulled out her Gringotts bag, letting it fill with the needed money.
"Thirty galleons, Mr. Ollivander," she said, handing over the large gold coins. "A pleasure as always."
"Indeed, Miss Slytherin."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hermione sat in her room, hunched over the empty blackthorn wand. An athame lay beside her wand on the desk while she held a scalpel in her right hand. She gently turned the empty wand, carving another miniscule rune into its hard wood. Sitting up she shook her hand. The wand's runes were incomplete when she purchased it, as some depended upon what the core would be. Something she had not been willing to tell Ollivander.
Hermione let out a sigh before hunching over again, picking up where she left off. Despite her specialization in Ogham and ancient gaelic, the runes she carved were of the more traditional futhark and futhorc. The wand had already been started that way, and most spells were based on norse, germanic, or latin numerology and etymology. Changing halfway through would at best weaken the spells her mother would cast and at worst cause the wand to explode.
A knock at the door cause Hermione to jump slightly. She looked down at the wand, grateful that she hadn't messed up the runes with her sudden movement. She quickly cleared off the table before standing and opening the door.
"Aunt Cissa!" Hermione said, a smile on her face. "To what--" Hermione was cut off as Narcissa Malfoy swept into the room, closing the door behind her. She set a layer of silencing charms, privacy charms, and locking charms before adding a series of hexes and curses that would make anyone think twice before opening the door.
"Aunt Cissa?" Hermione asked.
"My husband," Narcissa Malfoy said, still glaring at the door. "Is not heeding your words. He has been locked in a room with Severus since he and Draco arrived." Hermione huffed.
"He is making a mistake," she said. "His money is still useful, but it is no longer needed to fund my father's efforts."
"I know," Narcissa said. "I worry, not only for him but for my son. Hermione," she said, turning towards the girl she had raised for the past three years, towards the daughter of her beloved sister. "I know you are not fond of Lucius, gods know your mother wasn't either but--"
"Your son will not pay for his father's mistakes," Hermione said softly. "Nor will you, that much I can ensure. I can do nothing for your husband if he keeps digging." Narcissa felt her eyes watering. Her lips trembled, but she nodded all the same, letting her niece wrap her into a tight hug.
"There is still hope," Hermione said. "But if he doesn't show when my father calls--"
"I understand," Narcissa said in a whisper. She pulled back, wiping tears from underneath her eyes. She swallowed and blinked away the last of them. "Now then, dear niece," Narcissa said with a smile. "What plans have you made for breaking your mother out of Azkaban?" Hermione grinned as she began moving parchment from her bags, hovering over her desk, aunt by her side.
Chapter 26: The Yule Ball, Part OneSummary:
Hermione and Fleur take the Yule Ball by storm. Severus contemplates his choices
Chapter Text
Severus Snape brushed ashes and embers off himself as he stepped through the fireplace, his mind far away from the dark basement in which he resided. The Mark was returning, that much was clear. Their Lord was returning, if the word of his daughter was to be believed.
His daughter. That raised problems all of its own. The girl with no last name, malnutrition, and a half-dozen addictions who he had helped three years ago was no more. In her place stood a calm, powerful, and undeniably Dark witch. One who had claimed the Black and Gaunt vaults, giving her more power and wealth than all but a few. If what Lucius believed was true, she had access to the Slytherin and Rosier vaults as well. And there were rumors that the Gaunts descended from a more senior branch of the Peverells than the Potters did. If Albus had lost possession of those vaults, with the galleons and ancient magics, the war was as good as done.
Of course, he could prevent it from happening at all. Severus was fairly sure that Alastor Moody was not, in fact, Alastor Moody, instead being the Dark Lord's man. Severus could kill him, go to the Dark Lord's lair, and destroy whatever body He was hiding in. That would set the Dark Lord back by ten years or so.
Less, now that His daughter was around and knew her heritage. She and Lucius were not close, which was unsurprising to Severus. She did, after all, have bad memories of older men with silver hair. What was surprising was that Lucius, who had been their Lord's left hand as Bellatrix was His right, the subtle tool, the financier and politician of the Dark Lord, was of mixed feelings. Admittedly, the diary plot of was a bad move, and one that He was no doubt aware of, if He and Hermione were in communication, as Lucius believed. Still, it was nothing compared to raising His daughter and heir from the filth and giving her a home these past three years--if he took credit for it and begged forgiveness for his trespasses.
Severus sighed and pushed the thoughts of his old friend away. No doubt Lucius would winge until the Mark burned. Once it did, Lucius' self-preservation and political instincts would take over. He would be fine.
What Severus had to do was decide where he would land in this war. He had time, more than anyone else as no doubt both players would ask him to continue spying. Truth be told, he hadn't fully decided which side he was on during the last war. He shook his head. That was a problem for later. The immediate conundrum was whether or not to tell Albus about the Dark Lord's daughter. The one who was making moves even he couldn't parse. In the month before the break she had talked to McGonagall, the irish half-blood Finnigan, and the wealthy muggleborn Finch-Fletchley, but also the Carrow sisters, the Selwyn sisters, and Nott. All in addition to her usual eclectic group of the Greengrass heiress, Dagdo, and Zabini, the heir of a half-dozen fortunes thanks to his mother growing collection of dead husbands. She had also destroyed McLaggen in a duel, insulted MacMillan, and was in a relationship of some romantic nature with Delacour.
The question was whether or not to tell Albus. If he did and was discovered, his position in the Death Eaters was gone. The Dark Lord was clearly protective of His daughter, that much was clear. Not even Lucius or Narcissa--the girl's own aunt!--had been informed of her existence.
On the other hand, he could ill-afford to keep it a secret. The girl was likely setting things up for her father's return. If Dumbledore knew that he had kept her a secret, he could lose his place in the Order, once it re-formed. Besides, keeping her identity a secret could be enough to guarantee the war for the Dark Lord, the man who killed the love of his life.
Severus sighed. He didn't like where this was headed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Fleur Delacour, daughter of Apolline Delacour, nee Durfort, and Pierre Delacour, heiress of the Duchy of Rauzan and the Viscountcy of Trois-Rivières, descendent of Veela and military commanders, of explorers and nobles, was nervous. Her mate, whose list of titles far exceeded her own, would be descending the stairs an minute. She had arrived two days ago with the rest of the Hogwarts students, but the two had barely seen each other since. Other than a brief conversation confirming their date they hadn't spoken, leaving both Fleur and her inner veela nervous.
The ball itself was nothing to Fleur. She had grown up in the Palais Durfort in Bordeaux and attending this kind of trivial festivity many times before. The ball was not making Fleur nervous. It was the uncertainty in her date. Fleur did not like uncertainty.
She had spent the last twenty minutes hovering by the grand staircase, looking over shoulders, hoping to see Hermione descending the stairs, only to be disappointed. Harry Potter (" Dumbledore's sacrificial lamb with a hero complex ," as Hermione had described him) was standing rather awkwardly with an Indian beauty next to him. He clearly had no idea what to do or how to do her. Fleur took a moment to give the girl a pitying look before returning to look longingly at the grand stair--
As she turned, Fleur's brain shut off. Descending the staircase in a tight green dress with silver serpentine stripes, wearing a platinum bracelet of black diamonds, her hair manicured into neat ringlets that fell from her head, was Hermione. Her mate.
Hermione smiled at Fleur. She had been rather nervous about her outfit, an anxiety that had only grown when men and boys along the way had stopped to look at her. Fleur's gaze took the gross feeling away. Her stare wasn't just one of hunger or desire, it was one of adoration and love. Emotions she hadn't truly understood until that year.
Stepping next to her mate Hermione used the height granted by her heels to kiss Fleur on the cheek, which seemed to snap the French Veela out of her daze.
"Mon dieu, 'ermione," Fleur said, looking her in the eyes. "You look stunning."
"As do you, mon cheri," Hermione replied, sliding her arm under Fleur's. She looked around, then turned towards Fleur with a smirk.
"My love," she began. "I do believe we are the best dressed here." Fleur turned, looking at the crowd of black and white formal robes and pastel dresses. Her own was a light blue, but sharper and with a leg slit, a tight fit, and a daring neckline.
"I am inclined to agree," she replied. "Not that we 'ave much competition."
"Well," Hermione said in a breathy voice, drawing closer to Fleur. She leaned up, her warm breath tickling Fleur's neck. "No one can compete with a veela." Fleur turned as Hermione leaned down again, her smile predatory. Her eyes blinked yellow for a moment before returning to their baseline blue.
The two witches turned to face the front as the doors to the Great Hall swung open. The champions led the way, with Fleur at the front of them. She seemed to float through the room while Hermione swept through it despite being on Fleur's arm. The other champion trailed behind them, Viktor stiff, Harry slouched, only Cedric carrying a semblance of dignity, striding confidently as Cho Chang floated on his arm.
The champions had a private circular table of eight seats. Fleur and Hermione walked to the end, Fleur pulling out a chair for Hermione. They sat, backs facing the wall. Not even all of Narcissa's training on social graces could keep Hermione from twisting in her seat to look at Fleur with a contented smile.
The meal was enough of a distraction for Hermione to regain her poise, pointedly ignoring the smirks Blaise sent her way. The conversation around the table was decidedly dull. The boys and Cho were talking Quidditch, which was fine, she supposed. Better than it breaking into a fistfight, though that would have been more exciting. Parvati was ten minutes into a monologue about divination. Deciding enough was enough, Hermione turned towards Viktor's date.
"I'm sorry, I don't think we've been introduced," she said, sticking out a hand. "Hermione Slytherin."
"Freya Sverre," the tall blonde replied. Her hair was thicker than Fleur's, her body heavier-set, muscles more prominent. Closer to Hermione's build than Fleur's, though their coloring was nearly identical.
"Of the Sverre dynasty?" The woman raised an eyebrow.
"Not many remember us. Fewer still here." Hermione smiled, but did not reply, instead waiting for Sverre to make the first move.
"In fact," Sverre began. "I could have sworn the only books on it were written in proto-norse using elder futhark."
"I think they are," Hermione replied with a smile, matched by Sverre.
"Favorite alphabet?" Sverre asked, leaning forward.
"What for?"
"I'd say rituals, but those are illegal here--"
"Stupid rule," Fleur commented, rolling her eyes. "And you British say ze French state is oppressive." Sverre chuckled and Hermione sighed and slowly scrawled something out on a napkin before handing it to Sverre. She looked down, then looked up, eyebrows raised.
"You know Dalecarlian runes?"
"Nothing but the most obscure for my girl," Fleur said. Hermione glared and got a smile and a kiss in response. She sighed, smiling once more. Fleur always managed to drag one from her, even when she was annoyed. Especially then.
A flicker of flame caught her attention. Sverre batted at the burning napkin for a moment before drawing her wand and dousing the flame. There was a pause as she cleared her throat and the boys returned to their quidditch conversation. Leaning over, she whispered in Hermione's ear,
"Call me Freya."
Chapter 27: The Yule Ball, Part TwoSummary:
Dancing and smut for Fleur and Hermione
Chapter Text
With dinner finished and business left behind for the day, the champions stood from their table and walked towards the dance floor. Smiling, Hermione place her hand on Fleur's back, pulling them slightly closer. Fleur's eyebrows rose, but she said nothing. The waltz began and Hermione stepped forward, then to the side, before back and to the side again. As the rhythm repeated she began to twist slightly and vary step lengths, leading them into a graceful sloping journey across the dance floor. She raised her arm, hand pointed down from the wrist. Fleur spun out, Hermione taking short steps to follow until they rejoined and began their journey once again.
More couples joined as the song continued. Hermione directed them with a practiced ease, twisting and twirling as a pair through the narrow gaps in the crowd. Raising her arm again, Fleur began to twirl. Hermione matched her, twirling in a full circle. They met face-to-face, Fleur's hand coming to rest on Hermione's shoulder as Hermione's resumed its place on Fleur's back.
Soon after the waltz came to an end and the band picked up on another song, the Weird Sisters joined by a large ensemble accompaniment. Hermione smiled and grabbed Fleur's arms, leading her into the dance. She detached an arm, spinning out to the side, pausing with her arm extending outwards before twirling back, catching herself on Fleur's arm.
"Gods," Hermione said with a laugh as Fleur looked at her, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. "It's been a long time since I danced swing." Suddenly she turned, crossing Fleur's arms over her as her back pressed against Fleur's front. She dropped to the floor, sliding out, then back up onto her feet, spinning out and back in before resuming her position, dancing face-to-face with Fleur.
"Where did you learn to dance like zat?" Fleur asked incredulously.
"Muggles," Hermione replied with a laugh. "Good trick to wear someone out. Old men always think their endurance is higher than it is." Fleur blinked, trying to decide whether she should be mortified or laugh. In the end she went with neither, instead pulling Hermione into a tight hug, leaning down to whisper in her ear.
"You will never have to do that again," Fleur said. Hermione tightened her hug before stepping back, wiping the forming tears from her eyes, shaking her head slightly.
"Do you think I'll ever go a day without saying something fucked?"
"Eventually," Fleur said. "If that's something you want. You will never be normal though," she added, spinning Hermione out and in, holding Hermione's back close to her front, whispering in her ear.
"You're better than normal."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The gardens were beautiful, Hermione dully noted in the back of her mind as she led Fleur out of the Great Hall. They had truly done something marvelous to the outside of Hogwarts, normally little more than dead grass and grey stones during the winter. Rows of neatly manicured hedges were assembled. Winter roses, winter jasmine, and camellias grew tall alongside them with a neat groundcover of snowdrops and primroses.
Hermione turned, pressing Fleur up against a wall. She looked up, her eyes open. Her walls dropped and she pulled close, leaning up, pressing her lips against Fleur's. Her tongue pressed against Fleur's bottom lip, begging entrance, which was shortly granted. Hermione's tongue pressed against Fleur's, tangling and drawing it out. Her hands gripped Fleur's rear, pulling her closer as a hungry sound snuck through Hermione's lips, drawing a low moan from her partner. She backed off from the kiss, her teeth drawing Fleur's bottom lip along before releasing it.
Hermione's hands moved, grasping Fleur's hand and pulling her along as she led them back inside. Fleur raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Hermione pulled her towards the stairs instead of the Great Hall.
The journey went by in a flash. There was no one to interrupt them or make an odd comment, as nearly the entire school was at the dance. Hermione led the swiftly up the stairs and to the seventh floor, where she paced thrice. As the door popped into existence Fleur followed Hermione, letting her lead them into the room.
The entered and immediately Fleur was spun around and pushed back into the closed door, Hermione's mouth on hers, their tongues entangled. Her hands rose and wove into Hermione's hair as Hermione's lowered, grasping at her arse, pulling them closer. After Hermione broke the kiss Fleur breathed in, intending to catch her breath, only to have it be taken away by a pleasured gasp as Hermione kissed down her neck, nipping and biting as the skin as she went. She continued down, tracing her lips around Fleur's cleavage before looking up with questioning eyes.
Rather than respond, Fleur slid off the straps of her dress, letting gravity take it to the floor. She shivered under Hermione's hungry gaze as the deep brown eyes observed every inch of her body.
Her witch returned in an instant, her mouth resuming its course, one hand deftly unclipping Fleur's bra while the other took it away before gently squeezing one of her breasts, coaxing out a moan. Hermione leaned back up at that, locking their lips once more, her tongue surging forward into Fleur's mouth. Her hands traced around Fleur's breasts before sneaking in, pinching and twisting her nipples. Fleur moaned again, higher as Hermione moved her mouth down, beginning to kiss one of them. Her hand trailed down as well, sliding beneath Fleur's sodden knickers. She teased her clit as she kissed her way back up Fleur's chest. The squeak her mate let out as she flicked her clit made Hermione chuckle into Fleur's skin, sending another tremor down the veela's arched back.
Slowly Hermione's fingers picked up speed. She left Fleur's breasts, well-covered in hickies and bites, and started once more on Fleur's neck, kissing around it. The blonde veela leaned her head to grant Hermione better access as her breaths became shorter. Hermione smiled as her mate grew closer and closer to her climax. A moment before it would hit Hermione bit down on Fleur's neck, hard enough to break the skin. Fleur let out a pinched shout as her orgasm was started early, Hermione's fingers speeding up before slowing down to let her ride it out.
Smiling, Hermione removed her fingers and gave Fleur a peck on the lips before helping her to the floor. They lay there for a while before Fleur rolled into Hermione's side and began licking her fingers clean. There was a possessive glint in her eyes, one that was matched by the predatory shine to Hermione's. The younger witch pushed her back onto the ground before vanishing her knickers and stradling the champion's face.
Chapter 28: The Morning AfterSummary:
After a splendid night, Hermione and Fleur return to day-to-day life
Chapter Text
Fleur awoke the next morning, her head resting comfortably on Hermione's shoulder, an arm wrapped around her and holding her close. She smiled at her mate and debated waking her up. Her eyes roamed the room before settling on a set of blood-red feathers close to her, ones that traced under Hermione's arms and--
"'Ermione!" Fleur yelled, scrambling backwards.
"What?" the younger witch asked grumpily, sitting up and rubbing her eyes before taking a look around the room.
"AH!" Hermione screamed upon noticing the feathers, pushing backwards. "Ah! Right! It said that would happen."
"What said what would 'appen?" Fleur asked, wrapping herself in one of the bedsheets the room had kindly provided.
"The books. Erinyes first transform after claiming their mate."
"Ah," Fleur said, a smile growing across her face. "You certainly did that." She laughed as Hermione's face blushed to match the color of her wings.
"Hush," Hermione said, not meaning it. "Right, the book said I can shift back if I just. . . focus. . . ah, there we go." Hermione smiled and stood, having shifted back into her regular human form. "Thank the gods for strapless dresses," she said before drawing her wand and transfiguring into a set of more normal robes. She turned and did the same thing to Fleur's bedsheet.
"Right," Hermione said. "This will only last a while, we should probably head back and get changed before someone notices."
"Right," Fleur said, biting her lip. Hermione stepped forward, her arms catching Fleur's before they folded.
"It's not that I'm scared to be open with you," she said with a smile. "It's that Slytherins take teasing to another level."
"And you are proud to be in that house?" Fleur asked incredulously. Hermione recoiled, a scandalized expression on her face.
"Fleur!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As Hermione had predicted, her 'friends'--both her actual friends, who numbered three, and the rest of her housemates--reacted to her sleeping in the Room of Requirement. How word had spread she did not know, though she was certainly glad that it did not spread beyond the house boundaries. If Slytherins teased in private and sent knowing smirks throughout the day, the Gryffindors would have been calling her a slag and talking about 'reverting to her old ways.' Or trying to hire her. That thought sent a shiver down Hermione's spine.
"Hey," a soft voice called from beside her. Hermione turned towards the blonde who, for the moment, had stopped squeezing the bubotuber and was simply holding it. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Hermione said, grasping the plant and pushing the pus out of it. "Just thankful for the in-house rule."
"What brought that up?"
"Thinking about how much worse today would have been if someone told the Gryffindors." Daphne made a face that caused Bridget, who was standing across from them, to laugh so hard she dropped her tuber. Upon hitting the table the tuber went wild and began spraying pus onto Pansy Parkinson, who squealed and ran as the whole class burst into laughter.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Barty Crouch had been having a normal day. Normal as a day could be for him, that was. Considering that he'd spent more than a decade under an invisibility cloak and the control of his father in his father's basement, before exchanging that for keeping a famous auror in his own trunk to properly impersonate him in service of the greatest wizard the world had ever known, 'normal' was not a concept with which Barty was familiar.
His life had gotten even less normal after finding the long-lost child of his Lord. He had been one of four people to know of the child's existence--the others being Rookwood and the parents. Both he and Rookwood had been quite surprised to learn that Bellatrix, who was renowned for seducing the wives of less competent Death Eaters, and their Lord (who had never expressed an interest in anything sexual) had created a child together. They were both relieved to learn that the pair had not actually had sex, but had instead used a complicated ritual. But after their Lord had disappeared, Karkaroff ratted out Rookwood, and he and Bella were sent to Azkaban, Barty had assumed the child had been killed by Dumbledore, one of the many tragic casualties in pursuit of the "Greater Good."
Finding the child had instead been unofficially adopted by the Malfoys (and had a gods-be-damned Occamy as a familiar) was mind-boggling. Even more so was that at the age of fifteen she knew enough dark magic to not only know of horcruxes and the Triarch's Ritual, but to suggest improvements.
Improvements which he now held in his hand. Improvements which looked like they might work. Improvements which came with the note, " If I'm going to have a father, he'd bloody well not be insane. "
Well. She'd certainly inherited her mother's boldness.