Chapter 7
Hermione POV
As it happened, Hermione did not see her husband for the next week. An entire fortnight had gone by and she and crooks were alone at the new place. Well, they weren't really alone as Alice was there for the cooking and cleaning and Sir Neville was there for the guarding, but they didn't count.
Alice was actually Neville's mother, and they had a small cottage around 20 minutes away. She had discovered that the village border where her house was, was called Frosthaven. When she had asked Sir Neville about the name, he had laughed and told her that the coldest winters fell on their village, making it a sparsely populated place. Hermione was not looking forward to the winter. The climate in Briarwood had been mellow year-round, but she took heart from the fact that the onset of winter was many months away. For 12 years of her life, Hermione had helped out in a shop, and the itch to sell had not left her.
The advantage with being at the borders was the vegetation, and she went foraging for herbs with Sir Neville keeping a watch. There was an uneasy truce between Sir Neville and Crooks, with the latter always trying to trip up the knight by getting underfoot, but Sir Neville bore the antics of her familiar admirably.
Since she didn't have any household chores that weren't taken care of by Alice, it was on the 2nd day that she was back, that she had started foraging ingredients, getting a decent collection of mushrooms, and some medicinal herbs and roots. It was now just a matter of drying those herbs up, which she did—some were dried in the sun, and some were dried magically by her.
With her collection of freshly dried ingredients, her heart yearned to trade—maybe her mom's genes were strong, her maternal family was mostly traders. Then again, she was a forager, mostly due to her father's interest and her tagging along with her father any chance she got, so her dad's genes were also there.
She had tried to sneak out at the crack of dawn to the village market of Frosthaven, but Sir Neville had caught her. After much negotiation, she had wrangled a compromise. Sir Neville got her a cart, and she glamoured both of them. She now looked like a much older woman in her 50s, with black and greying hair, while Sir Neville who stood with her looked like a man much younger than his age. They would pose as a mother-son duo, who'd come to sell their wares.
The first day got her a good 40 knuts. Her earnings were meager, but the thrill of selling her produce, the satisfaction of the knuts tinkling in her pouch, never failed to bring a smile to her face. It was on the 13th day of her morning routine of selling her paltry wares, that a customer, obviously with a lot of coin, came to her. The man was handsome, with black hair that curled just so on his forehead. He had grave eyes as black as midnight, a sharply chiseled face, and a strong musculature. For a moment she had just stood admiring the man's beauty, for he was beautifully built. She was brought down to earth when he asked the price for the red poppies. The poppies were a mere 2 knut apiece. The man bought all the sixteen poppies she had collected.
She had to shake Sir Neville to put the flowers in the cloth bag for that man. It was odd. Sir Neville had never been this fidgety before. Perhaps this man's refined looks had affected Sir Neville too. They certainly never got this type of well dressed customer in the village market. She brushed off Sir Neville's absent-mindedness. But the man was still standing in front of the cart. Over the course of the next 10 minutes, the man bought all the roots, flowers, and herbs she had for the day. His total came to be 5 Sickles. But he handed her 5 Galleons instead. It was too much. She tried to hand back the extra money, but the man refused.
"For this fresh produce, you could have charged much more," the man said.
"I couldn't have sir. This is the fair price. Besides, herbs should not cost too much. The day our herbs start being expensive, is the day, hard times are omened for the people, sir."
The tall man just gave her an even stare. She was suddenly reminded of her husband's stares. He too would give her a level gaze as if trying to decipher her. She gave herself an internal shake—it was just a passing ridiculous thought, if this was true, any male who stared at her would be her husband. Shaking off that absurd notion, she focused again on the man.
"Keep the galleons. Don't refuse me. Please." She stood clutching the 5 Galleons, watching the man walk away. She didn't know why he had sounded so authoritative, even when he spoke a word of supplication like 'please', and she didn't understand it, but the minute the man handed her the galleons and she looked up, his black eyes gave her a pause, as if every though she had had flown out of her mind. An amused glint had come into the man's onyx eyes as he had taken in her silence.
When the man went away, they did not have any more produce to sell, so they packed up early. A silence engulfing both Sir Neville and her as they went back to the house.
The next day she didn't go to the village market. Her husband had returned sometime in the night. She only knew he had come when she felt the bed dip beside her, and his lemon and woodsy scent envelope her. Still, she was sleepy and did not wake up.
The few days after that were quiet. She did tell him about going to sell produce at the village market. He did not say anything to that. A day after she had told him, he added another guard to accompany her to the village market.
A few days into their routine, she asked him at dinner, "Why do we live in such a small house?"
He had coughed at that. "You don't like this place?"
"No, it's not like that. I mean, the house you've arranged for my parents is bigger than this, and I just wondered why you don't live in the capital city Sarragar."
Picking up his spoon to finish his stew, he had answered her. "I don't like crowded places. I can much more easily leave on my assignments to different nations while situated at the border. And, it is peaceful here at the border. After going to different nations, and interacting with different people, I like the calmness Frosthaven affords."
As they were about to sleep, she asked him, "When can I expect summons from your King?" She had married the General and Master Sorcerer of Silverhaven. Her husband held a high post, and she was sure the king of Silverhaven would soon ask to meet the bride of his General.
"Soon," was his succinct reply, but he did not say anything else.
In the coming days she entertained Wand-Maker Ollivander at their small abode. The wand-maker had his shop at Sarragar, but he had come to their house at her husband's urging. A wand was selected for her—or rather, her wand selected her, 10¾ inches long and made of vine wood with a dragon heartstring core.
She had been pleasantly surprised when her husband had told her that she would be selecting a wand.
Briarwood exported some of its timber for wandmaking, but Briarwood did not teach wand-magic. The elemental and instinctual kind of magic was taught at Briarwood. Silverhaven on the other hand, practiced wand-magic.
There were proponents of both type of magic—some argued that wandless magic strengthened the magical practitioner, whereas others argued that wand-magic was more effective. When she had asked her husband for his thoughts on the issue, he had said, "Proficiency in wandless and wand-magic, both are needed. Say you're attacked and your wand breaks, without a grasp on wandless magic, you wouldn't be able to save yourself. But when your emotions are not calm, like in the heat of battle, wandless magic is too volatile and unpredictable, and using wand-magic is the controlled and safe mechanism then."
She had been oddly touched when he had mentioned her safety. "You need practice with your wand. If you're self-sufficient with both wandless and wand-magic, I'll not have to think too much about your safety."
The next four days after the purchase of her wand, her husband had spent the night teaching and supervising her charms, and a big tome had been given to her to read more on wand-magic. She had thought their political alliance would be dull and dry, but her husband's obvious investment in ensuring her safety, his patience while correcting her wand movements and answering her innumerable questions on both wand-magic and the politics of Silverhaven, made her see him in a new light. A light which showed her his true personality—a driven individual, with a good command over magic and politics, and someone truly devoted to the Heir of Slytherin, King Thomas, and though it was not overt, but his efforts with her showed that he cared about her too, though she probably came second to the welfare of Silverhaven, but she did not mind that.
Beyond their first night as husband and wife, they had not had any intercourse. With the excitement of having her wand, Hermione did not mind the lack of their intercourse, and before she knew it, within a fortnight, Lord Voldemort had again left for some work—he never discussed what assignments he was on with her. She hoped that with time, she would have gained enough trust for him to confide in her.