Chapter Text
Their escape from Nott Manor was all due to Narcissa and Theo.
She just wished she knew how the witch and wizard did it.
Because it felt wrong, all of it. It felt wrong when Narcissa came back from seeing Nott senior. And it felt decidedly wrong when Theo’s body slumped against her after Narcissa apparated them all to safety.
Another death on her conscience.
——————
“You two have the beginnings of a great partnership,” Professor Slughorn announced, his eyes holding a delighted twinkle.
It was the first words out of his professor’s mouth as soon as Damocles introduced Hermione Nott to the class with a quick explanation of her presence. The widening eyes and jaw drops from everyone but the Slytherins would have been amusing had he not known that he had a very similar expression just minutes before.
It was his nightmare come to life.
Her as the beautiful ingenue assigned as his Potions partner—brilliant, hardworking, a tad misunderstood with a mysterious backstory. Him as the awkward Potions swot who didn’t know what to do with his good fortune. He could almost hear his older sister, Demetria, cackle at his predicament while she pushed one of her illicit muggle novels for him to read. Or perhaps this time, her half-blood husband would sit him down to watch more of the muggle films they both were obsessed with.
What was this particular trope?
Forced proximity? Propinquity?
Damocles took a deep breath to help settle his thoughts and instantly regretted it. He could smell the floral shampoo she used wafting his nose. It wasn’t unpleasant—much to his chagrin.
What he wouldn’t give for her to smell like week old quidditch socks.
But no. Even with her hair up on a casual bun, the stray curls that escaped teased his nose with what could only be a mix of her scent and whatever products she might be using. He cursed his Potioneer nose for being able to pull out the scents of lavender and vanilla.
He was going to be in so much trouble.
Merlin and Morganna had seen fit to drop on his lap the witch of his addled dreams. She was smart, funny, beautiful, and most importantly, Potions-obsessed to boot. Everything would have been great had it not for that one tiny detail of her being already engaged to one Sirius Black of the fucking main branch of the House of Black.
Engaged with what could only be an iron-clad contract to the most noble and ancient house known for its Pureblood sentiments and a large propensity for dark magic.
He almost shuddered at the thought of what that contract might look like.
He knew the types that Houses like that had.
Bloody illegal most likely.
But who’s to stop them when more than half the Wizengamot participated in such reprehensible practices behind closed doors?
He shook his head and focused on the situation at hand while his Potions partner sat seemingly oblivious to the stares and whispers around them as she diligently took notes from the board of Slughorn’s near indecipherable writing.
There were scarce more than a handful of decent Potions students his year and all of them were in this class. The NEWTs class encompassed all the Houses, but most of them were from the seventh year Ravenclaw and Slytherin houses. In fact, he was the only one from his House to decide on the NEWTs level Potions, with most just opting for the regular seventh year class.
He firmly believed that Fates had it out for him the moment Professor Slughorn excitedly decided to partner him up with his fellow Hufflepuff. The professor probably thought he was doing him a favor after the disastrous partnership he had with Dolohov last term. Like Professor Sprout, Slughorn had, of course, been unaware of Damocles’s own plans to keep his distance from Hermione Nott in an effort to keep his growing admiration in check.
He almost protested the directive, but one look at Nott’s uncertain smile made him bite down anything he would have said to dissuade his current Potions mentor. Something told him he would probably be the most suitable partner she was going to get given the blatant looks of speculation amongst their classmates.
The Slytherins gave her a wide berth and were more subtle about their curiosity. They had a long history of Blacks and Notts, and they had a healthy dose of respect for the names associated with the new witch. Miranda, of course, introduced her housemates almost immediately, having been introduced already the evening before. She was no doubt already attempting to cultivate an alliance or friendship that would be beneficial to the Greengrasses.
The Ravenclaws didn’t bother to hide their interest—a sixth year taking her NEWTs was something for them to be in awe about. He could see their apparent confusion amidst the whispers under their breaths. Someone as supposedly bright as Nott should have been sorted to their House and the fact that she wasn’t made her an object of study and curiosity.
The Gryffindors, however, were a mixed bag and it was something he would have to ponder more later. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the House of Lions and that was unexpected in itself. That boisterous house was, more often than not, quite open about their feelings. Today, however, they represented a gamut of emotions directed at Nott. And some of them seemed to not be…the friendly sort.
He sighed.
Perhaps they blamed her for the loss of house points last night. Perhaps Sirius Black’s influence and antics coloured their views of the witch. Or perhaps, and he could see this, there was a bit of jealousy involved when it came to the witch. While the other houses might be better at hiding it, the lions were hardly ones to do so. Either way, the hostility emanating from some of the Gryffindors (not all) was a surprise and out of place. Hermione Nott could hardly be blamed for her family’s successful alliance with the House of Black nor could she be blamed for Black and McKinnon’s actions last night that resulted in the subsequent point deductions and detentions.
He partially regretted the enthusiasm to which he and Abbott doled out the consequences to the two Gryffindors—but only because he believed it to have had a detrimental impact on Nott and her possible interactions with the lions.
Now that he thought more about it, he really was the best partner for her. Not only because he was damned good at the subject—and it looked like she was as well—but also because he had no ulterior motives to speak of when it came to befriending the witch. He didn’t need her help for his project and he had no wish to curry favors from her and her familial connections. But most importantly—especially after seeing some of the reactions around him—he didn’t wish her any ill-intent. That was something he wouldn’t have thought to consider but for the odd looks she had been receiving from some of the witches.
He wasn’t an expert in witches, by any means, but he knew the looks of envy and downright affront coming from some in the room. And, by the looks of Nott, she was familiar with it as well. Perhaps it was something she’d already encountered before, given her intellectual gifts. It probably wasn’t easy for her growing up amongst her peers and advancing by leaps and bounds ahead of them.
Fuck.
Of course the heroine of his tragic romance would have some sort of vulnerability that would allow him to swoop down and figuratively rescue her.
He inwardly groaned.
It was going to be a long spring term.
——————
She could feel her fellow classmates’ eyes on her.
They weren’t subtle in their interest and she expected it to an extent. Even without the Black engagement, she knew her academic and magical achievements would garner curiosity amongst the Hogwarts population. Her involvement with Black was just another reason to single her out.
It wasn’t her fate to be a wallflower—Dumbledore had made that quite clear. Her glamours were temporary and in the end, would only call more attention to her and what she might be hiding due to her circumstances.
She should have realised that earlier—preferably at the Platform before having met Dorea Potter.
There would always be wizards and witches who were powerful enough and magically curious enough to pick apart the threads of her disguises. Those were the ones of concern. Those were the ones she needed to either watch out for or cultivate.
She gave a furtive glance to her Potions partner.
He seemed genuine enough.
Earnest.
Protective of her in a way. She smiled. It was most likely due to her house affiliation, but she would take what she could get.
There were too many unknowns here.
She closed her eyes and pictured where everyone was situated in the room.
Too many Slytherins whose names she recognised from her dreams. As startling as that was, what’s more disconcerting was the fact that she recognised their faces.
They were younger—they could have been the children of her dream counterparts. Much like Black and Lovegood. Even McMillian.
Now there’s Dolohov and Rowle.
Her hand went instinctively towards her middle, tracing a nonexistent purple scar.
They were bound to be in her NEWT-level Ancient Runes class tomorrow too and she needed to decide how to deal with them. They seemed friendly enough when introduced by Greengrass–albeit with an air of watchfulness in their very demeanor–but then, all the Slytherins had it. That House was cautious. They were as curious about her as she was about them. They won’t strike unless it suited them—and right now, it suited them to align with her and the House of Black.
She almost grinned.
Despite her Hufflepuffness.
They didn’t know what to make of her yet and that suited her just fine.
It gave her time to…ascertain her situation.
To investigate.
With all the little annoyances she had with Black, his family, and the Nox ring, she mustn’t forget that there was also the bigger mystery of her dreams.
It was a priority that was all on her own, above everything else.
She was close to an answer that was so different from before—but an answer that might be closer to the truth than what she had previously. She just knew it.
Now that she was at Hogwarts, she could feel it in her bones. The answers she sought were here. Perhaps then, when she finally got them, she would be satisfied.
She looked up from her note taking and stared at the familiar figure of her current professor. Strangely enough, Slughorn looked the same as he always had in her dreams. He had the same smarmy chuckle and opportunistic glint in his eye. She wondered what potions he brewed to remain looking as he did in Granger’s time.
“Nott?”
She turned to her partner with a smile. “It’s Hermione,” she told him. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, you might as well get used to my name.” She grinned. “Nott is far too confusing and easily used in pun-worthy endeavors.”
He grinned at her. “Hermione’s a mouthful,” he joked. “How about M—”
“No,” she said sternly but softly, so as to not be heard by the professor. She wasn’t sure what shortened version of her name he might have said, but her dreams had plenty and she wasn’t sure she could take the constant reminder.
“Hermione it is,” he agreed easily enough. “But don’t blame me if those extra syllables take up the extra time for me to shout out a warning should our potions come to an explosive end and you end up doused with an ill-made Polyjuice or the other.”
She frowned, her thoughts going back to another non-explosive but ill-made Polyjuice, before she looked at him steadily. “Something tells me that you and I won’t be making any catastrophic potions together,” she said knowingly. If her dreams were anything to go by, this man was the inventor of Wolfsbane. He was brilliant in Potions. “In fact,” she said almost in wonder but with a speculative tint, “this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” she quoted a film she had seen in both lives.
Not that Belby would appreciate the reference.
Except the surprised look in his eye told her that he recognised the said line from the film and was quite surprised that she knew it.
For the space of a heartbeat, a momentary panic gripped her chest. She was a Nott engaged to the Black heir—she shouldn’t be allowed any familiarity with muggle culture, let alone a muggle film that was over thirty years old at this time. And Belby, Belby was Pureblood! How did he even—
He was giving her a strange look, most likely noticing her pained expression, when she decided to take a chance and hold her index finger close to her pursed lips. She shook her head slightly, her eyes conveying her need for…discretion.
It wouldn’t do for the general population to know the extent of her muggle knowledge. It was too much for a Pureblood, even if that Pureblood hailed from a progressive school in France. Her father would have a fit, thinking that his secret about his muggle-dreaming daughter would be exposed. It would draw unwarranted attention to her—more than she wanted and more than what her parents wanted given the incident during the ring ceremony.
Belby’s eyes remained confused but he left it alone and nodded. “We should talk about which potion to brew for this term,” he said instead. “Slughorn has a list to pick from and he often requires four to be done successfully to pass his class outside of the actual NEWTs.”
She nodded. “I’ve seen the list and I’m able to take credit from my Potions professor in Beauxbatons for most of those already,” she told him. “But I will be brewing poison antidotes for this class to help with my work with Madam Pomfrey and St. Mungo’s.” She looked at him hesitantly. “I’m happy to help you with yours if you need a helping hand?” she inquired.
He gave her a grin. “No, that’s great!” he said excitedly. “I’ve also completed the minimum requirement Slughorn needed for the class so I’m actually working on another project right now to submit for my NEWTs.” He nodded towards their professor. “He’s giving me a bit of guidance and helping source some of the hard to find ingredients.”
“Oh?” she breathed. Could it be? Could he already be working on a Wolfsbane potion? If that were true, it was another proof that there was something to her dreams besides her childish desire to replace the family she had. Not only that, the timeline for even considering it was quite early. She didn’t think the potion became available to the public until the late eighties.
He scratched the back of his head and looked away. “It’s sort of a personal project,” he mumbled, suddenly reticent.
“I’d love to help if I could,” she offered. Could she help expedite it? She theoretically knew how it was brewed—she helped brew it enough in her dreams.
“No!” he said hurriedly. “I mean, it’s not something you’d be interested in,” he tried to explain, again looking away. “It is quite…obscure and esoteric.”
She grinned, hoping he would open up. “Hello?” she said, chiding. “I’m Hermione Nott, swot extraordinaire and Potions aficionado.”
He gave her a sickly smile that confused her before she caught herself.
Of course he wasn't going to want to publicize his endeavors to her. The Notts and the Blacks were not known for their tolerance of creatures.
Which then begged the question—why would Belby even think to invent it in the first place? Why would a Pureblooded wizard spend half his life devoted to helping werewolves? She didn’t recall reading anything about the potioneer himself in her dreams—Belby had been a well-known recluse and not much was said about him in the books.
While the potion itself had been a miracle to a segment of the population, the upper echelons didn’t quite embrace its usefulness. After all, to most Purebloods, a safer werewolf meant a dead werewolf.
“It’s really quite all right,” he said firmly this time and she chose not to push it.
She kept her disappointment to herself despite the deflation she felt. If his project were the Wolfsbane potion, the insights to its development and thought process would have been brilliant.
But she understood where he might be coming from.
He didn’t know her and what he did know of her affiliations didn’t necessarily inspire the idea of tolerance towards others.
Of course that was even assuming it was Wolfsbane. It could very well be that he hadn’t even thought of Wolfsbane yet.
“What about you?” he asked, obviously moving the topic away from his project. “Have you thought of creating a completely new potion—doing something more than just tweaking or improving what we have already?”
“I have,” she replied softly. “But while I’m quite good at…ahh…tweaking and improving something already invented, I’m afraid I lack the originality to create something new.”
“Oh come on,” he chided her. “False modesty will get you nowhere here.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s true,” she protested. “It takes a certain amount of creativity to make something from nothing,” she explained, making sure he knew of her admiration for his endeavors. She gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Tweaking potions to make it better or more effective…it’s a different sort of talent and that’s the one I’m quite good at.” She eyed him, wondering how much she could promote her skills without sounding too much like bragging, but enough that he might reconsider having her help him with his pet project.
He nodded thoughtfully.
“I like to use Arithmancy,” she expounded. And muggle maths, she thought to herself. She had a particular specialty in limiting the number of experimental brews to determine the effects of the variables at the same time. It cut down on the time and ingredients required to determine just the right combination of ingredients and and steps.
“Of course,” he said. “You did say you already completed your NEWTs in Arithmancy as well.”
“Yes,” she said softly. She turned back to their professor and listened with half an ear, her mind running laps as it considered Damocles Belby. She wasn’t going to push anymore. She’d leave it for him to ruminate. They were Potions partners and she had the whole rest of the term to see if she could expedite what was going to be one of the most revolutionary potions of their time.
——————
Sirius kept his eye on the entrance at the back of the Transfiguration class. It was the class that the Gryffindors shared with Hufflepuffs on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays so it would be the first class he might get a chance to actually talk to the now elusive witch. The Ravenclaws were no help as Nott failed to show up for breakfast. It would seem that they were to finalise their plans at that time, but Nott’s schedule called for an earlier start.
She should be coming from her Charms class with the Slytherins—one of her two classes with the snakes today.
But both sixth year Hufflepuff prefects were in their respective seats already, having come from Charms a bit early due to an apparent accident with one of the Slytherin students who had to be escorted to the Hospital Wing. While he would normally ask them for the location of his fiancée, he had a distinct feeling that even looking in their direction for a prolonged period of time might just result in his balls being hexed off by Davis.
And so he kept his head down as he shooed the bewildered James away from sitting next to him. Meanwhile, the rest of the Marauders looked at him in confusion, as he did just do away—at least for today—five and a half year’s worth of tradition of sitting next to each in McGonagall's class. He smiled apologetically, but he had a plan and he wasn’t about to be deterred.
“Thank you for walking me to my next class,” her familiar voice drifted to him. He turned towards the sound. He would bet he could pinpoint it amongst a crowd of students in a full Great Hall. Her distinct voice was one of the things he noticed about her when they first met.
Her voice today was kind and friendly. Too bad her words weren’t directed at him and he honestly couldn’t believe he even heard them as no one else in the classroom seemed to have heard her.
Looking at the back of the class, he noticed that her sentiment seemed to be directed quite clearly at the Head Boy who casually unslung her school bag from his admittedly massive shoulders before returning it to her.
“And thank you for carrying my bag,” her tone was rueful, as if she shared an inside joke with the recipient.
He could see Belby murmur a reply, but his animagi ears couldn’t pick what was actually said before Hermione threw her head back with a laugh.
That garnered the rest of the class’s attention and he watched as she said her farewells to her escort and looked up to the rest of the class.
“Hermione,” he called out, her name awkward on his lips, despite his deliberate use of it instead of her last name. “Hermione,” he said more clearly this time ‘round.
Her eyes met his with a frown and he noticed Belby reach out to put a hand on her shoulder. She turned back to look at him.
An icy finger ran down his spine. His eyes narrowed at the gesture as a hint of something unnamed and unpleasant unfurled inside him.
The Head Boy took entirely too many liberties for his position.
An unspoken communication seemed to pass between the two before she turned back to meet his gaze inquiringly. “I saved you a seat,” he said with a calmness that belied the nervousness he felt.
It was a gamble, putting her in the spot. He knew she hated to draw unwanted attention, but either way, they were going to get it. Whether she snubbed him or not, the school was bound to talk about them. In fact, the school was already talking about them. Admittedly, some of the gossip could have very well been avoided were it not for him.
But he was going to make it up.
That was what he was trying to do, wasn’t it? Why he was putting himself out there.
“Actually, we saved you a seat too!” called out Davis from the front of the class.
He turned to give the Puff a dirty look only to have her and Abbott give him matching winning smiles with entirely too many teeth for comfort.
He suppressed a shudder and turned back to look at Hermione who seemed to be in deep whispered conversation with Belby. The Hufflepuff Head Boy was showing entirely too much concern, his massive frame dwarfing over her protectively. She put her hand on his arm and squeezed at reassuringly before turning her attention back to the class.
With a smile pasted on her face, she walked confidently straight towards the front of the class and greeted her fellow housemates, sparing him neither a glance nor any other indication that she’d heard him at all. She approached Davis and Abbott’s table, chatting amicably with her prefects as they introduced her to other fellow Hufflepuffs who took the opportunity to approach the witch.
He could hear the affronted whispers amongst the Gryffindors at the apparent snub. He wasn’t sure what to make of his housemates and their erroneous thoughts about him and Marlene, but he didn’t need them ganging up against Hermione based on the assumption that he and Marlene were meant to be together. That would hit a bit too close to what Peter had planned and it was believable enough based on his and Marlene’s history.
James and his own magic were right.
Peter’s idea was a terrible idea, not only because of his family and James’s mother, but it would also pit Hermione against him—rather, more against him than she already was. He wasn’t sure he would ever be forgiven for the latest gossip, but what he was trying to do now was damage control. He was trying to make it up to her.
He was putting himself out there, allowing her the opportunity to reject him in front of his house and hers.
He knew it wasn’t enough to make up for last night’s bungle, but it had to be a start, right? Best case scenario, she accepted the seat next to him and he got a chance to talk to her. Worst case, he got embarrassed when she ignored him.
He sat back down in his seat, unexpectedly disappointed if he were honest. He knew that there was a somewhat large chance she would ignore him. He didn’t need the ring on his finger to tell him how irate the witch was last night. The figurative daggers she shot him made her feelings quite clear. But hope sprung eternal and there was that one in a million shot she would take the opportunity to finally hear him out as he wanted to at the train station. He guessed he would have to find another way.
“Tough luck, mate,” James moved to sit next to him, obviously seeing the interaction and the opportunity to claim what he considered to be his rightful spot. His eyes gave him a look of understanding.
James always did know what he was trying to do before he even did it.
“Pretty sure she’s a bit put out after hearing about all that stuff in the train though,” James offered as a reason.
“Not to mention what's been going around school from last night,” Remus had to interject behind him.
Sirius turned back to him and was met with an inquiring and challenging look from his friend.
James nodded. “You were fucking mad meeting up with McKinnon at the Hufflepuff floor, mate.”
He groaned.
Yes, he fucking knew that.
Turning towards his friends, he gave them a helpless look. “It wasn’t like I had a chance to change the location,” he hissed. “She’d left the tower by the time I got back, if you recall.”
“You could have just met her at the tower,” Peter put forth.
“And have all of Gryffindor listen to our business?” he demanded.
Which really, in hindsight, would have probably been better.
“Well, now you have all the Hufflepuffs instead knowing ‘all about your business,’” snarked Remus, echoing a version of what Sirius thought.
He looked at his friend in betrayal. Full moon in a couple of days and the werewolf became snippy.
It was a fucking fair point, to be sure. He didn’t disagree with the sentiment. He just didn’t want to be browbeaten about it. He sighed. There was still a way to fix this. Maybe he’d ask Reggie.
He almost groaned at the thought of his brother.
Reggie was gonna be furious. He actually seemed to genuinely like Hermione.
“I know, I know,” he admitted to his friends. “It was stupid, but I owed Marlene a talk.”
“And is…everything sorted?” James asked delicately—or rather, as delicately as his friend could whilst disapproving at the same time.
“We’re still figuring things out,” he said. “We got interrupted—”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Hermione’s voice did her own interruption from behind him.
He almost jumped out of his skin. His eyes widened in panic, meeting both Remus and Peter’s eyes. He almost growled at them. Surely they saw her approach from behind him? Couldn’t they have given a warning? A look? A smoke signal, for Merlin’s sake? Anything other than just look at him blankly from their own seats?
Slowly, he turned back around to face the front of the class where Hermione Nott stood primly, not a tress out of place on her perfectly styled head of hair. Her eyes moved briefly across all four of them before settling on his again.
“I believe you have a seat for me,” she prompted.
A seat.
She came here…to sit with him.
Like he wanted.
A one in a million chance.
Yes! Why yes, he did, in fact, save her a seat.
What the fuck was James doing in it?
“Hermione!” he said, standing up, knocking his chair against the table behind him.
She arched a brow. “Nott,” she corrected delicately. “It’s Nott.”
He wanted to growl.
“Now, Black,” she continued, turning to look at James, “if the seat is taken—”
The way she referred to him with his family name grated at him like no other. But now was not the time to dwell.
“No!” he said immediately, her words finally penetrating over his irritation over his name. “James was just leaving—”
“I am?” his friend repeated blankly, owlishly through his thick rimmed glasses.
“You are!” he responded, and his response was surprisingly in tandem with…Evans? He turned to look at the Gryffindor prefect, his eyes wide.
Evans seemed to have appeared out of nowhere to forcibly grab James’s arm.
“I am!” James repeated with confidence this time as he allowed himself to be dragged to Evans’s side. He was tripping all over his feet in an effort to stand from the chair.
“Sorry about this,” Evans said, “but Potter here is supposed to show me some of his notes.”
“I am?” James said again, clearly confused—Evans took the best notes in class. A not so subtle stamp of Evans’s foot on his toe made him change his questioning tune to the more definitive “I am!” that followed.
“I’m Lily Evans, by the way,” Evans introduced herself with an extended hand, while her other one kept James from falling on his feet in delight. “Sixth year Gryffindor prefect.”
Hermione slowly raised her hand to clasp Evans’s, her eyes darting back and forth between her and James. An unnamed expression flickered across her eyes. It was gone so fast that Sirius wasn’t sure he truly saw it.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t…happy.
A cold dread gripped his chest. Lily’s introduction of herself was considered gauche amongst the Pureblood circles given that both he and James were present. One always waited for someone who already knew the person to introduce you rather than imposing oneself. Especially in this instance where it was his own fiancée in question. Being Purebloods, he and James knew these niceties yet ignored it for the most part. In fact, most students ignored it with the exception of the Sacred Twenty-Eight in the Slytherin house. It would have been different had Evans and Hermione been alone. Then introducing oneself was the polite thing to do should the case warrant it.
Looking at Hermione’s face, however, he had a feeling that he and James probably should have scrambled to do the introductions themselves. Hermione was from the twice damned Sacred Twenty-Eight. She would expect such a thing. Even her own housemates followed the tradition and it was the prefects who had introduced the other Hufflepuffs to her just then when she entered the room.
“Nott,” Hermione returned. “Hermione Nott.” Her voice was…cautious. He wanted to describe it as cold, but it was more than that. There was something suppressed.
Was it disgust?
Was Hermione a blood supremacist like his family?
Like her family?
He knew that chances were great that she would be. After all, Thaddeus Nott was a prat of one and, the most damning evidence of all, his very own mother loved her.
He swallowed as he watched as she shook Evans’s hand, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she would wipe it off later once she realised that Evans was a Muggleborn.
Evans was not a traditional wizarding name after all.
“Have you met the rest of my housemates?” Evans continued on as if the tension amongst them wasn’t palpable enough. He could see Potter look at the prefect dotingly yet with a bit of panic.
“I can’t say I’ve had the…opportunity,” replied Hermione, tilting her head to the side and she stared at his friends consideringly. Her eyes were guarded and curious at the same time. She looked briefly at James before looking away and back to Evans. “Except for Potter here, of course.”
“This is Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew,” Sirius told her hurriedly, before Evans could make it worse. “Friends of mine,” he added. “You remember?” he asked hopefully. “I’d wanted to introduce them to you at the station.” He turned to his friends. “Everyone, this is Hermione.”
“Nott,” she said at the same time as he said her name. “It’s Nott.” He did growl then as she turned to face them more fully. He knew she wanted to put some distance between them and her emphasis on her family name was just one more strategy. “A pleasure,” she said politely despite her face showing it was clearly anything but.
Not that his friends were any better.
Pete made some sort of embarrassed shuffling gesture while Remus just gave a nod and looked like he was going to stare the witch into submission.
What the fuck was going on with his mates?
He mentally kicked himself and cursed Evans silently.
Of course!
Why would his friends be happy to meet the witch who was the cause of his distress? Why would they be happy to meet the witch his mother wholeheartedly approved of? And why would Hermione be happy to meet the people who supposedly made plans to make her Hogwarts life miserable? He could see her now eyeing the chair he indicated for her with a mistrustful look.
“It’s not hexed,” he assured her.
She arched a brow at him again. “That’s not suspicious at all,” she deadpanned.
Evans gasped and looked at the four of them disapprovingly before doing a quick spell to see if there were any hexes on the chair.
Hermione sent him a smirk, her point proven as even their own housemate—their own prefect!—seemed to take what he said with a grain of salt.
“It’s not hexed!” he repeated, frustrated that even this small thing was doubted.
“That’s exactly what someone who’d hex something would say!” Evans retorted as she finally completed her examination. “It’s not hexed,” she assured the Hufflepuff.
Sirius threw his hands up in the air.
Hermione looked at his prefect with amusement in her eyes. “You must have your work cut out for you,” she observed. She gave him and his friends a cursory glance before facing Evans again. “I’ve heard…rumours.”
He groaned.
Evans nodded her head enthusiastically, perhaps sensing an ally in her quest to rein them in. “Remus tries, of course,” she babbled.
“Of course,” Hermione echoed, looking at Remus thoughtfully, her gaze lingering a bit too long on his friend, her eyes seemingly following the scars on his face.
The hair at the back of his neck stood to attention and so must have Remus’s because he could feel his friend’s sudden tension at her perusal.
She turned away from Remus deliberately and looked back at Evans and James expectantly.
They looked back at her in confusion.
“I suppose I should take my seat now,” she prompted, looking between them and the seat they were still blocking. “Before the Professor arrives.”
“Right!” Evans exclaimed, her eyes round like saucers. “Potter and I will just…go over there,” she pointed somewhere behind him.
“Of course, my Lily-flower,” James agreed enthusiastically, allowing himself to be dragged to where Lily was sitting.
Which happened to be next to Marlene.
Marlene, who watched the whole thing in fascination before motioning James to sit behind her and Lily. It didn’t look like she was about to give up her seat next to Evans. He could see James’s shoulders droop in disappointment before following the directive.
Sirius turned back to Hermione, who was still looking at both James and Evans. There was a soft smile on her face before she turned her attention back to him, this time with hardened eyes.
“If this seat is hexed in any way,” she said softly and calmly, “I swear to Morganna that I will make you wish your mother had engaged you to a grindylow instead of me,” she finished with a smile that belied her words.
A smile with too much teeth.
It must be a Hufflepuff specialty.
He choked, and he could hear Remus and Peter behind them cough uncontrollably. He knew she meant for the words to be for his ears alone, but how was Hermione to know that his friends had superb hearing due to their animagi status or werewolf senses?
She gave his hacking friends behind them a sharp glance before turning back to him. “And that goes the same for your little buddies too,” she warned before gracefully placing her school bag between them and sitting down on the said chair. She glanced to the side and gave a reassuring wave to her housemates. “They really don’t like you,” she informed him cheerily.
He looked at the group of Hufflepuffs whispering amongst themselves and shook his head. “I can’t say I blame them,” he replied, which garnered him a surprised look from her. “What?” he asked. “I know what they think and if I were them, I’d be pretty mad for my housemate too.”
“That’s a surprisingly mature and non self-centered comment coming from you,” she returned, finally deigning to look at him. Her eyes were full of suspicion. “Who are you and what have you done to Sirius Black?” She looked back at Pete and Remus before her eyes landed on him again. “Brewed some Polyjuice with your mates, did you?”
“Har har,” he muttered. “I might not blame them but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
She shrugged. “Not really my problem,” she declared, crossing her fingers in front of her and giving the best don’t-give-a-fuck impression to all who looked at her.
He tried to look at her objectively.
Everything about her mannerisms screamed Pureblood—from effortless straightness of her back to neatly draped robes and no doubt perfectly pressed uniform underneath. She was so composed and proper. Initially, that had detracted from anything else about her that might have caught his interest. She had been and still was the epitome of all things related to his family and their way of life. Despite her efforts to hide herself, he did notice her. He noticed her when she projected her plain, mousy hair and nondescript looks. He noticed that she wasn’t much to look at and that she was someone he could dismiss.
Except now, he was almost certain he was manipulated by the conniving little actress. It was all deliberate—he was sure of it.
It had been easy—too easy—to dismiss her that first night. So easy, in fact, he wondered if anything about her was real, or a subtle image she glamoured by with her magic.
“Thank you,” he told her quietly. He knew his friends could hear him, but maybe he needed them to, especially Peter.
He could see her stiffen almost imperceptibly at his words, but she made no acknowledgment. “I know I don’t deserve your consideration, but I’m grateful nonetheless.” He was certain she knew what he was thanking her for, but he explained anyway, if nothing else then at least for anyone else who might be listening.
He owed her that.
Again, she gave him no notice or indication of having heard him, but he felt…an incremental lightness from the heaviness that settled upon his shoulders since yesterday.
His bar on getting along with this witch was quite low.
But, she hadn’t snapped at him or glared daggers at him since taking a seat and endeavoring to ignore him.
That had to be a record.
He pulled up his own chair and sat quietly next to her, his eyes focused somewhere in front of the class. “I just wanted you to know that.”
There was a very slight relaxation on the vicinity of her shoulders, but he wasn’t sure if it was real, his imagination, or wishful thinking on his part.
“Can we—” he started, before pausing. Maybe right now wasn’t the best time to do this. Maybe he should wait. But honestly, he’d never been patient and he was less certain of any other time he might have with her in the next few days. It was now or an indeterminate time in the future. “Can we start over?” he whispered hurriedly before he could change his mind.
The knuckles on her crossed fingers whiten for a second, signaling to him that she heard him. She gave him a sideways glance before answering with a quiet, “No.”
He winced at the quickness of her response and took a deep breath to hold himself in check.
That was…fair. And most likely a response that indicated that she might still be more than a little angry after last night’s debacle and previous nights before it. He was a bit of an arse to have made plans to make her miserable enough to be the one to break their betrothal. He might not have been aware of the full repercussions, but he knew enough for it to be bad that he didn’t want to be the one to suffer it.
Which, as she rightly pointed out, was a shite move.
He wanted out. He was the one who had an issue with the circumstances. He needed to be the one to figure it out.
“We should, however, consider what we want to do moving forward,” she said softly, looking sideways at him.
He nodded slowly, not daring to breathe a word for fear he might break whatever spell she was in that made her amenable for the moment. He watched her bite her lower lip before turning fully to face him.
“We’ll discuss it,” she declared, “like you wanted to. But Black—”
“Sirius,” he said steadfastly, holding her gaze.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t do either of us any good to deny your name or your family,” she admonished.
“That’s not what I’m—”
She turned her head back to the front of the class, as if in dismissal of him.
He ground his teeth in frustration.
She was deliberately misunderstanding him—he was sure of it.
But she conceded his point that they needed to talk—how the tables had turned since they first met!—and that was something, wasn’t it? It was a start.
It had to be.
“Fine,” he gave in. For now.
She needed distance and fuck if he knew why he was even insisting on the name.
She was partially right. He didn’t like his family name and all it represented. He preferred when people didn’t use it to address him. He liked it when they didn’t know he was a Black.
But, he also knew that wasn’t all it was.
At least not for him.
Some part of him hated the fact that she allowed others to call her by her given name. It implied an intimacy that his magic rebelled against especially when she made the point to push him away.
Which didn’t make any sense.
It wasn’t like he wanted to be closer to her. Quite the opposite, in fact.
But his magic—well, that was another matter. And at this point, it was easier to let the magic do what it wanted. It was one less thing to worry about while he figured out a way out of this predicament.
And he needed her help.
It was clearer to him now more than ever that he would need the help of the witch who tangled with Walburga Black and came out seemingly unscathed.
She’d seen the contract. Probably knew it inside out whereas he’d only been told what his parents had signed him up for. He barely glanced at the parchment it was signed on when his parents presented it to him fait accompli.
He should trust her judgment about it. If she said it was futile, she was one of the few who would know. He might have even trusted her judgment about it being unbreakable were it not for the very fact that she wasn’t as invested as he was in breaking it.
She said so herself—she expected a contract like this for her marriage. Railing against it most likely never even occurred to her.
It was up to him to find a way that ensured three things:
Break the contract.
Protect Remus.
Ensure the witch next to him wasn’t caught in the crossfire.
He could hear her sigh beside him. “We will have that talk,” she said resignedly. “We’re due for it.”
He covered up the sigh of relief he felt with a well-placed cough.
“Join me and my friends for lunch,” he invited impulsively.
She glanced up quickly at him, her eyes wide in alarm. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she began almost immediately, despite the unexpectedness of his question.
“Why not?” he asked seriously, wincing a bit inwardly. Truly, he wasn’t going to make a pun out of it now.
“Well for one thing, I don’t believe I would be welcome,” she stated matter-of-factly with a well-placed side eye.
“That’s not true,” he protested, albeit weakly. His friends might make an effort to welcome her if he asked—although their actions this morning so far put that assessment in a precarious position. But if she actually did join them at the Gryffindor table, he had a feeling the rest of his housemates might not be as welcoming given the current mindset on his and Marlene’s status.
She threw him a look of disbelief before looking back to the front of the class. “And I truly do try to avoid places that are unwelcoming,” she continued. “I’ve had enough of that in my own home, you see.”
He winced. Something they had in common, it would seem.
“Secondly, I’ve already sent a note to McMillian about meeting her and her friends for lunch since I missed breakfast with them.” She shrugged. “Abbott and Davis already said they were going to join me wherever I decide to sit for lunch, but I believe that Davis might have some sort of seizure if I join you and your friends.”
Another fair point and Sirius nodded in concession. He wasn’t Davis’s favorite person at the moment if the look she threw at him last night and this morning were any indication. In fact, he just might be persona non grata to the entirety of the Hufflepuff House.
Which was an odd thing to be given the Badgers’ predilection for niceties.
“We need to—” he began.
“I know,” she interrupted, a hint of impatience at the edge of her tone. “You’ve not made it easy, but I know we need to have this discussion.”
He saw her look down to her hands and direct her gaze at the ring she wore. She didn’t glamour it—he wasn’t even sure if it was possible given all the old magics infused within it. On its own, the ring called attention to no one. There was no large stone in the middle—only runes from a time older than he knew. The sides were inlaid with black stones that blended with whatever metal alloy the goblins used in making it.
Today, sitting so close to her, he would notice her twist the ring around her finger. He wasn’t sure if it was a nervous habit. What was interesting was the way her fingers deliberately avoid the runes in the middle. His eyes narrowed.
He would have to ask her about it. Part of him wanted to believe that what happened in Grimmauld—when her thoughts and feelings were as clear as day—didn’t happen at all.
That it was all his imagination. That her touching the ring had no consequences.
But the more he watched her avoid the ring when she could, or rather, avoid the runes on the center when she could, the more he grew concerned. Something happened that night.
Something more than the promises made.
He and the witch had made a connection.
It could have been an aberration and Merlin knew he hoped that it was.
But he needed her help to figure it out.
He needed her help with almost all of it pertaining to this betrothal.
So if he had to tamp down on his own impatience for a little bit, he would do it.
She nodded her head, as if coming to a decision. “We’ll figure this out,” she said quietly. “Or at least figure out how to live in the same school for the better part of the year. We can’t be at odds all the time.”
He nodded. Maybe this was the best he could hope for for now.
——————
So close to the full moon, it was difficult—nay, it was downright impossible—to figure out what the fuck the wolf was going on about.
Given that the wolf was him, he didn’t like not knowing one bit. It added to the unpredictable factor of his nature—something he avidly tried to control, seeing as how dangerous it was to be out of control for wizards with his affliction.
Hermione Nott as an abstract concept that he and his friends talked about in the confined space of the train made his hackles rise due to the yet unknown effect she had on one of his best friends. Something was off about Sirius and it was more than just what the circumstances as he presented them.
His friend was…hiding something.
Keeping secrets.
Something he never used to do, especially when it came to witches. Sirius was quite honest about his entanglements. Not indiscreet. But honest.
Which brought him back to the witch in front of him.
Hermione Nott in the flesh was…not what he expected. He knew it the moment she stepped behind Dumbledore in the Great Hall yesterday. She wasn’t the plain Jane like James had described, but that friend of his was never the best at seeing any other witch that wasn’t Evans. Still, Remus couldn’t understand how James could have described her as a wallflower when everything in his own senses stood up to attention at her approach. He was certain that he would have been able to pick her out in a crowded room with no problem.
Up close, it was even worse.
His wolf’s hackles weren’t raised—far from it.
Instead, her presence felt…like an old friend.
Familiar.
But he knew he’d never laid eyes on this witch before last night.
So what the fuck was Moony on about?
Instead of comforting Remus, his wolf’s somewhat warm reaction made the man within him suspicious and on alert.
Was it a spell?
Some sort of glamour?
He hadn’t thought his wolf to be susceptible to any glamouring charms, but perhaps there was a spell that could make his wolf look at a stranger as…not a stranger? Was there a spell that only affected his wolf and not him?
He frowned, his eyes following every movement the witch made during the class. He stretched his senses, barely paying any mind to McGonagall as he honed in on the witch.
But the more he focused on her, the more his senses also took in Sirius by her side. He finally gave up on trying to isolate his senses to her and just allowed himself to be led.
And what he observed was perplexing. The two of them—Sirius and Nott—worked well together.
There was an effortlessness in their execution of the spells that required both their participation. Their timings and wand movements were so in sync, one would think they’ve partnered in this class for years.
They barely talked—except when Sirius initiated it and she replied as was required by what must be her ingrained Pureblood manners. And Sirius never asked anything of real interest to anyone since McGonagall arrived. Just what was needed for them to do McGonagall’s lessons together. Still…there was something that drew Remus to keep watching them. Something he could feel, but not pinpoint exactly what. As much as he wanted to say it was all about Sirius and how the witch affected his friend, his wolf nagged him otherwise.
But with the exception of spell executions together, he noticed an awkwardness in their interactions. Small movements that were barely noticeable even to him and his wolf so he knew that no one else probably paid it any mind.
Nott was skittish and Sirius was unexpectedly uncertain.
At first, Remus thought he’d imagined it, but further observation confirmed that she always drew back at the slightest hint of Sirius touching her. Not that Sirius would deliberately touch a witch without her consent, but she avoided his polite offers of help if that help entailed her taking his hand or allowing him access to her own person to help with the wand movements. Her offers of help to him were of the instructional nature and sometimes a demonstration—never a correction that entailed she would have to lay her hands on him.
What’s more, there was an evident flinch from her when his elbow brushed her while they sat together and listened to McGonagall’s lecture. Sitting right behind them allowed him access to see how she surreptitiously moved her chair farther from his friend in order to avoid another said accidental brush up.
But despite all her efforts, however, something unnamed drew them together. He could feel the almost tangible pull towards each other. When she dropped her guard and focused on the lesson or the spell, she gravitated closer to him.
And Sirius…Sirius seemed lost.
Where Nott consciously drew away, his intent seemed to be the opposite. He hovered over her protectively, almost like a shield from the rest of the class. When he noticed her flinching away from him, he made the effort to withdraw the offending part that was close to her, but he did so reluctantly, clumsily. He responded to her cues as if he knew them by heart. His awkwardness was a response to hers.
He was—for lack of better term—being aggressively accommodating to her unspoken and very subtle demands for space. Sirius understood it without her telling him. Despite her acquiescence in taking the seat Sirius had to offer—more a strategic move on her part, Remus gathered, rather than an actual desire to sit next to his friend—there was a distance that bloomed between them despite all efforts of their magic.
Contrary to what they projected in class—which was an amicable front—their small gestures showed they were anything but in accord.
Which was why it was a surprise to him when he heard Sirius whisper a place and a time to meet amidst all the chaos and spells around them, and he was even more surprised when he saw Nott nod imperceptibly in response.
How very very interesting.