Chapter 5
It couldn’t be true. Wizards have been studying time travel for centuries and the best they had come up with were Time-Turners. Hermione knew this because in her more ambitious days at Hogwarts she had been granted permission from Dumbledore and the Ministry to use one. She had overloaded her class schedule and gone back in time to repeat hours, therefore giving her more hours in the day to complete extra classes. In the end it had been too much of a hassle to hide and she’d given it back at the end of that year.
That had nothing to do with the situation at hand, Hermione reminded herself. She needed to figure out exactly where she was. Or when she was; that would be a better description of her predicament. It had to be sometime before 1746, but not too far before because the Lucius Malfoy standing in front of her was the duplicate of the portrait in her history book. She still didn’t understand why this man caused her to feel such deep dread. She had felt the same way when she saw him on that page all those weeks ago.
She needed to get out of here. That was the first clear thought she had. The wards didn’t intend to let her apparate out of the tent and she wasn’t delusional enough to think she could beat Lucius in a duel, especially after her recent magical failure.
Play it cool, she told herself, focus, Hermione.
As Lucius continued his unbreakable eye contact, she straightened up and figured she should be the one to get the first word.
“I was under the impression I was simply being taken to have a conversation with this gentleman’s superior,” she said, gesturing towards the blonde soldier. “Why do I have the distinct impression I’m being treated as a captive?” Hermione demanded in what she hoped was her most convincing tone.
With the silence finally broken, Lucius raised an eyebrow and smirked at Hermione. It was not a kind smirk, it did not remotely reach his eyes and if anything it made him look more deranged.
“Peeper!” he called into the silence.
A moment later, a small house elf with greenish skin popped into existence beside Lucius. He had large brown eyes and a small mop of thin hair on top of his head. His ears were enormous, probably the largest Hermione had ever seen on a house elf. He was wearing the typical house elf uniform: a form of rags they assembled themselves. This one seemed to be made out of the course material many of the muggle men used to make their tents.
“Yes, sir?” Peeper the house elf squeaked at his master.
Lucius nodded his head in the blonde man’s direction and without looking at the elf said, “Take Draco to his chamber, he isna needed here anymore.” He had the same Scottish accent as the soldier who Hermione now knew to be named Draco. They had to be related, she thought. They had the same build and the same white blonde hair.
She had been in such shock from seeing Lucius standing in front of her that she hadn’t spared a thought to Draco or her surroundings. She glanced at him and noticed his eyes were no longer milky. They were also gray, but if Lucius’ eyes were like frozen pools of granite, Draco’s were like molten silver. Without the curse controlling him, he was almost… beautiful. Stop it, Hermione, you need to focus.
Their eyes met and Hermione saw a look of confusion cross his face quickly before he masked it into indifference. In the time it took Peeper to cross the room, take his hand, and pop them away to elsewhere, Hermione took a moment to take in everything else she was seeing.
The inside of the tent was massive. If she had been transported directly into it instead of walking through the flaps, she would never believe it was a tent. This had to be pushing the absolute limit of undetectable extension charms, she thought briefly. Leave it to Hermione to think about the logic behind things even when every cell in her body was telling her she was in mortal danger.
They were standing in what was obviously the main room. The ceilings were hung with drapes made of lucious velvet and elegant silk, a mix of silver, black, and what she could only describe as Slytherin green. There was an enormous table in the middle of the room, surrounded by green velvet chairs and laden with what looked to be maps and battle plans. There were black metal candelabras all around the room and a matching black chandelier directly above the table. The candles were glowing with an eerie flame, it was almost indistinguishable from normal flames except it seemed to move in slow motion. Hermione had never seen fire like that before, she was momentarily intrigued again.
Off to the left hand side of the living space was a small kitchen area. It was really small. House elf sized. It wasn’t dirty by any means but it was not nearly as refined as the rest of the tent. Obviously no human had ever cooked a meal there. Interesting insight on the dynamics at play, Hermione pondered.
The rest of the walls of the main room were covered in display cabinets. It wasn’t much of a stretch of the imagination to think that most of the items on display were loaded with Dark magic. There were shrunken heads, jars with various spiders and other invertebrates Hermione couldn’t immediately identify, bottles of mystery potions in every color imaginable, crystal balls, silver and gold goblets of every shape and size, and an array of other things she wasn’t sure she wanted to identify.
Hermione noticed that in between some of the display cases there were small gaps, and peering closer she realized there were doors. Looking around the room again, she counted six gaps but only five noticeable doorways. The doors she could see didn’t have any visible handles but they all had some form of a rune carved at the top. Oh, Ancient Runes, she had loved that class but hadn’t thought much about it over the last couple of years since leaving Hogwarts. She wished she had brought her dictionary with her from her parents’, not that it would help her here in the 1700s.
Now that she had realized the doors were there, she didn’t know how she hadn’t known immediately. Hermione could feel the Dark magic rolling from the doors in waves. Those must be some powerful wards, she said to herself, what else could he be hiding?
“If ye’ve had enough time to inspect my living quarters, I recommend we discuss why a witch was spyin’ on me and my men?” Lucius’ vicious drawl brought Hermione back to her current situation. She hadn’t realized he had been staring at her the entire time she was surveying her surroundings.
“Spying? No, no, I just-” Hermione faltered for a moment, realizing quickly that talking about time travel was not going to work in her favor, “-stumbled upon the battle, really. I heard it from a distance and came to investigate. That’s all, honestly,” she finished hurriedly.
Lucius raised his eyebrow again but all traces of a smirk had long disappeared from his face. “Dinnae lie to me!” he all but screeched, teeth clenched together and red in the face. Green sparks erupted from the tip of his wand, which was still loosely pointed at Hermione.
“Why would a witch of your… wearing that…” he managed to stutter out angrily as he took in Hermione’s clothing.
Oh for Merlin’s sake, she inwardly groaned, I’m wearing bloody muggle denims. They won’t be invented for at least another hundred years or more.
“Wha’ are those?” Lucius asked, with almost genuine curiosity.
“Oh, erm, they’re a new style from, erm, France,” Hermione lied through her teeth, even though she knew it was a pathetic excuse, “they’re good for riding horses,” she added to hopefully enhance her believability.
“The French, ye say girl?” Lucius was once again looking deranged as he walked towards Hermione. He reached out almost as if to grab the front of her jumper, but stopped himself and spun around, facing away from her.
“What would the French want with me? Has Loxias not been pleased?” he mumbled quietly to himself.
He peeked back over his shoulder at Hermione like he had already forgotten she was there and then called out, “Peeper!” again.
This man was clearly unhinged. She had watched him unravel and then ravel himself back up, just to unravel again, all in a matter of seconds.
The house elf once again popped back to Lucius’ side with another, “yes, sir?”
“Find this witch something appropriate to wear, banish those… riding trousers, I never want to see them again,” Lucius said, emphasizing her denims. The elf disapparated again instantly.
“Oh no, you see I cannot stay, I must return-” Hermione began to blurt out but Lucius cut her off.
“Ye will be staying wi’ me for the time being. Whether ye’re a spy or not, no witch in their right mind would be wanderin’ the moors, looking for battle,” he said in a way that meant he was used to getting exactly his way. Hermione thought her best option was to play along for now.
“I suppose if you’re offering, I can at least stay the night. It certainly wouldn’t be safe for me to be out after dark,” she said with false confidence that she hoped he wouldn’t detect. “Where am I meant to stay?” she added with a sweet smile.
Lucius eyed Hermione for a moment and then conjured a bed in the corner of the tent. It wasn’t anything fancy but it still looked more comfortable than the cot she had last slept on in the hospital ward. Merlin, had it really only been less than a day since then?
“I was hoping for something with a bit more privacy, I know this is war and you’re all men sleeping together but I am still a lady,” Hermione knew she was pushing her boundaries now but she was curious to see just how far she would be allowed to push. She still had so many questions.
Rolling his eyes, Lucius waved his wand again and this time some of the drapes from the ceiling fell down to create a room of sorts around her bed.
“I’ll assume ye are a capable enough witch to perform yer own privacy spells if ye should feel the need,” he said sarcastically to her, holstering his own wand on his forearm. “Ye are not to leave this tent. I will know. No magic in front of the muggles. We will talk later, I must see to the mess outside,” with a swish of his cloak he turned to leave the tent.
The mess outside. Hermione remembered all of the dead and injured soldiers with a jolt. “Wait!” she cried out after Lucius’ retreating form. He stopped walking but did not turn around.
“I’m a healer, I can help you, I can help them,” she all but begged him, “I promise I won’t run, I just want to help.”
This time Lucius did turn around. His pupils dilated so much his eyes were almost entirely black. She felt magic rippling off of him. She took a step back, and he smiled his most maniacal smile yet.
“I dinnae care if they live or die, witch, that isna the goal here,” and then he was gone, and Hermione was alone.