intentions
The room she was in was dark, the only light source coming from the candelabras splattered around the walls and the dying down hearth to her left. Her breath hitched, her eyes widened, a scared expression crossing her face. She didn't know where she was and why nor how she got there in the first place. She felt cold sweat forming on the small of her back and neck, as well as on her forehead. Glancing around, she couldn't quite figure out her surroundings, except for the dark shapes of the long bitten by the tooth of time, but still expensive-looking furniture and even darker, almost black flooring beneath her bare feet. The old wood creaked horrendously with deafening force each time she took the lightest step forward to examine the space she somehow found herself in.
Feeling her heartbeat fasten and breath shallow, she brought her shaking arms protectively around her middle to ground herself. A panic attack was not what she needed in this situation. What she needed was a sharp, rational mind. Trying to overcome the nausea building up in her throat, she closed her eyes, took a shaky breath in and immediately grimaced. The air was warm and stale, and smelled strongly of something unpleasant, the pungent odour making her eyes water. Mildew, she made a quick mental note and another worried look crossed her face. Her brows furrowed deeply as she kept her breath, trying to figure out how to protect herself against the mould. She exhaled a moment later and shook her head resigned, realizing there was no point in worrying about safety precautions now. After all, she had no idea how long she was in this place and how much of the toxic spores she had already inhaled while she was unconscious. It would be useless to stress and waste energy over the matter now, as there was nothing she could do about it. Taking another, now deeper and more evened-out breath, she tried to focus and put her occlumency shields in place, hoping it would help her recall the events that transpired or at least give her a clue as to why she was here.
The last thing she remembered was apparating away from a group of Snatchers gone wrong after her hide-out was compromised by one of their misfired spells piercing through the protection wards, she had applied earlier that day. The barrier rippled vehemently before disintegrating with a rumbling thud and the next thing she knew, she was running for her life as a variety of deadly curses and binding spells were shot in her direction, their blinding colours ripping through the pitch darkness of the forest. Feeling her lungs burn and aching muscles give out, she threw herself behind the closest tree in desperation. Her mouth dry as ash, heart pounding painfully against her ribcage, she tried to think of a way to escape. There was no chance of her being able to hold her own unscathed against the group of a dozen vile men currently chasing her. A devilishly red stream of light ripped through the air, its viciousness missing her mere inches. She had to get out of there and it better be done quickly or she was as good as dead. She had to apparate, it was her only option. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus. Splinching would be no good with multiple bloodlust-driven people going after her life. She kicked her right foot off the ground with all possible haste to spin around her axis, already feeling the familiar tugging sensation in her navel. Yet, mere seconds before she finished her turn to apparate to safety, one of the bounty hunters managed to grab her arm from behind, tugging along. Her eyes snapped open, blood rushing to her ears.
Panicked and thrown off, grabbing her wand tighter as the world was spinning violently around her, she thought of the first location that came to her mind, and - against better judgement - they landed at the driveway of 8th Heathgate in northwest London. The moment she felt her feet touch the ground, without giving herself a moment longer to balance herself properly or think about a spell, she fired a curse at the man who was still crushing her arm with his brutal hold. A green streak of bright, almost neon light illuminated the quiet, peaceful street and its nearby buildings, vanishing almost as soon as it appeared. Frozen in place, eyes closed, she felt the hold on her arm first lighten and then lift completely as the limp, lifeless body fell to the ground next to her feet, its dead weight causing a hard, loud thump against the pavement. Taking a deep breath in, she counted to five and took a step back before she allowed herself to open her eyes and look down at the face of the man whose life she had just ended. A gasp, and then a loud, horrified sob left her mouth. She stumbled backwards, her knees almost giving out, as she took in the appearance of her attacker. She was staring into the familiar face of Cormac McLaggen, his strong features frozen in an almost animalistic snarl.
She bent her body in half, propping her trembling hands on her thighs and letting nausea overcome her as she emptied her stomach on the ground right next to the still body, her own frame convulsing violently with each retch. Once there was nothing left, she closed her eyes waiting for her head to stop spinning and finally, slowly straightened her back. Numbly, she took another look at the corpse and then looked down at her closed right hand, the piece of carved wood still in it, buzzing with unfamiliar energy.
Confused, she loosened her grip on the wand wanting to let it fall flat against her open palm but was met with a sudden, painful sensation. She sucked air in through her teeth, baring them, as she slowly let her palm unfurl only to be met with a sight of her skin being caught and stretched over multiple, sharp thorns etched into it. A thin streak of blood started making its way down her wrist as she carefully removed the spikes and brought her hand closer to her face to examine the wand still placed in it thoroughly. Her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes swept over the previously delicate and sparse vine-patterned carving of the fine wood that was now tightly coiled around the wand's shaft and handle. Curious, she tentatively swiped her thumb over it. It was hard, raised and felt rough under her touch, nothing like the prior smooth and elegant surface of a tendril. The magic seeping from it also felt different, she noted. It crackled like electricity, stray sparks of energy oozing off it. It felt wild, unruly. Foreign, almost. She frowned, searching her mind for any information regarding wand lore that could help her understand what happened. Finally, a memory of her first and only visit at Ollivander's popped up.
"Ah, vine wood, 10 and 3/4 with a dragon heartstring core, an exquisite wand, lass", the eccentric old man had told her as a greeting, coming up from behind her when she entered his store and immediately came to a halt in front one of the tall shelves that covered the walls, eyes and hands already glued to a specific black box before he even had a chance to properly welcome her into his establishment. Taking the casing from her hands and retreating a few steps back, he had removed the wood resting inside it to inspect it more closely. "An exceptional wand, indeed", he muttered under his breath more to himself than her.
"Nonetheless, I feel, I must warn you, lass", her intrigued gaze snapped to his face. "Vine wands are among the less common types, you see. Even more when combined with any matter of dragons. And, over the years, I have been intrigued to notice that their owners tend to be nearly always destined for a greater purpose and hold a vision beyond the ordinary."
The man's measuring gaze then flicked between the wand and the small, bushy-haired girl standing before him, an expression of deep wonder falling over his grey, elderly features. Finally, after a few moments, he nodded absently as if pleased with his silent assessment. He held the carved wood out encouraging her to take it. Suddenly nervous, but equally excited, she gulped, her hand slowly reaching up. But before she could even finish lifting her arm up to take hold of it, it had flown itself up high into the air. It lingered there for a moment swaying from side to side as if confused, a yellow stream of sparks falling from it, only to swiftly drop into her outstretched palm mere seconds later. She turned her confused gaze towards the clerk, who was watching her intently with his head cocked to the side. He clapped his hands together, an excited glint in his eyes.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked lifting his thick, bushy brow and waving his hand at her in an urging matter. "It deemed you worth its power, so try it out, lass!", the man added quickly, realizing she didn't quite catch the meaning of his previous words.
"I'm afraid I'm not sure what exactly it is, that you want me to do, sir", she said softly and, as she looked down, he could see a bright pink blush of embarrassment spill over her cheeks. "I have not had the chance to learn any spells yet."
The man looked taken aback at first, but quickly recovered glancing around his establishment. There were no other people in his shop at the moment, other than the little girl standing before him, he noted. It was a somewhat unspoken tradition in the Wizarding World for parents to tag along with their children during their wand selection process since the wand of choice often pre-determined the later course of life of its master depending on the core and material it was carved from. Choosing a wand was the most important event in every witch's and warlock's existence as the vessel latched itself to the magical core of the wielder and formed a life-long lasting bond. Seeing how the girl's parents were absent and she had just admitted to not bearing knowledge about spellwork that other magical children her age usually already possessed, he could only conclude that she must've been either an orphaned child or a muggle-born. Or both. A heavy sigh escaped him as he absently brought a hand to his face to stroke his chin lost in thought, before looking at her again and then flicking his gaze to the wand in her hand. He thought of what those types of wands brought into the world through the ages of history, how easily they could be swayed by types of magic and what effects it had on the unknowing wielders. This was a difficult situation, a difficult situation indeed, but perhaps...
"Sir?" his mind snapped to attention, as he heard the girl clear her throat and then call out to him, ripping him out of his wandering thoughts. "I was wondering if you could take a look at this." She waved her hand at something, looking nervous but excited nonetheless.
Following her gesture, he felt bile rise in his throat as he came face to face with two scaly bodies slowly gliding across the floor in a beautiful but equally terrifying dance. Snakes, two black snakes with white scales around the mouths with edged in black, and creamy white chins and underbellies, were slowly coiling their bodies up as he rocked his mind trying to figure out the species. He had a vast experience with snakes during his wand-making apprenticeship under his father, even though it was many centuries since any snake matter was last used to craft a wand. Yet, he couldn't pinpoint the strain of snakes before him, slowly propping their upper bodies in a swaying motion, their gaze transfixed on the girl next to him. And then he heard it, a soft hiss.
He snapped his head to her small frame so quickly at the sound, he felt a sharp, paralyzing pain spread in his neck. Eyes wide with bewilderment, he felt his heart pick up its pace, starting to beat rapidly. Parseltongue, a gift thought long forgotten in polite society alongside the now long extinct, disgraced family of inbreed madmen, who possessed such ability. A little Gaunt, a Salazar Slytherin’s descendant was standing in front of him with a calm look on her face, assessing the conjured reptiles, that were now making their way towards her, their long bodies slowly gliding across the wooden floor, the glossy scales reflecting the dim lights of the room in the process. He watched, both terrified and fascinated, as she slowly knelt down to level with the snakes that came to an abrupt stop no further than a foot from them and reached her hand out, placing it gently on the hooded head of the beast. A part of him wanted to grab her arm and yank her back, but when the reptile angled its massive body pushing into the girl's touch, he felt his mouth quirk upwards.
"They're beautiful, aren't they?" She said and it sounded more like a statement than a question. He slowly nodded, eyes glued to the scene before him. "They're forest cobras", she continued unknowingly responding to his unresolved debate from earlier, "an African species, highly venomous and aggressive." The old man felt himself take a huge step back, just as she got to a standing position and another hiss could be heard, this time sharp and short, followed by an equally quick and sharp flick of her wand. Fascinated, he watched as the snakes backed off and disappeared in a heavy, black smoke.
"That was an amazing feat of magic for someone your age, lass” he said, his eyes once again on her face. She gave him a satisfied, smug smile that quickly dropped when she heard his next words. “But realizing now who you are, I must warn you, with your heritage and the wand that chose you, your life will sooner or later lead you through a path of great chaos and destruction, and that wand in your hand will one day be the testament of that.”
Her eyes snapped wide open as the memory ended, the old man’s warning still ringing loudly in her ears. Glancing down at the transformed wand still grasped in her hand, she cursed loudly. She didn’t understand at first what he meant all those years ago, but it all made sense now. She sighed, and looking around, the reality of where she was and what she had done, finally started to sink in. Her face blanched, twisting in panic.
She had apparated in the middle of a muggle neighbourhood and cast the killing curse, an Unforgivable, on a man out in the open. There were muggles around, and she not only killed a man using magic, but the dead body of the said man was still lying on the ground at her feet. What's even worse, she was still carelessly standing next to it.
She grabbed her wand tighter, casting a muggle-repelling charm on the property and a disillusionment charm on herself, whipping her head around frantically in search for any sign that she could be discovered or potential witnesses to the whole thing. After casting a quick Homenum Revelio, and taking in the results she took a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself down. No one was there, but it didn’t mean that she was safe. She had to act quickly, get rid of the evidence and get a move. A look of determination overcoming her features, she looked down at Cormac’s body once again and noted that his wand was laying on the ground next to him.
“Must have slipped out of his grasp when my curse hit him” she thought, bending down to grab the stubby looking piece of wood. After a quick inspection, she glanced around and smirked noticing a stately oak tree nearby. Straightening up, she snapped the wand in half with little force, ripped out the troll whisker with a disgusted grimace from its core, and threw the broken pieces of wood on the green lawn under the tree. It looked no different than a regular stick that has fallen off due to strong wind. “Definitely not the finest of Ollivander’s works” she snarked to herself, squatting next to the corpse and starting to pat it down in search of any personal belongings.
There was nothing, except some lint in his pockets and the ancestral ring on his finger, and she sighed disappointed. She closed her eyes, trying to figure out a plan. She couldn’t leave him here of all the places, the house was still registered under her name and she’d be the first one to fall under the suspicion of the muggle police, no matter the Death Eaters currently trailing after her. She’d be giving herself over to them on a silver platter if she left him here. Exhaling a shuddered breath, she groaned snapping her eyes open in frustration, her gaze falling on Cormac’s left arm. She bent over, snatching his sleeve up and felt disgust inflicted nausea hit her again. There it was, the Dark Mark. The snake, still alive, coiling itself up, feeding of the little magical residue left, even though the body of its host was long growing cold. He was one of his lackeys and would bring her before him. She stood up, her back straight, mind made. Whipping out her wand, she cast a quick Scourgify on the driveway, where her vomit was still spluttered on the ground, summoned her father’s camping equipment that she knew was still in the open shed in the back garden and cast a Feather-light charm on Cormac’s body. Picking it up to a standing position, she grabbed onto it, and spun around her axis.
They landed on a clearing in Grizedale Forest, near the Carron Crag fell, where she instantly dropped the corpse onto the ground with disgust, spatting at it with hatred. Desecration be damned. She went around the clearing summoning branches and set up a bonfire on the grass with no stones to contain it. It would look like an accident, a camp fire gone wrong. Cormac was always a dense, ignorant git. She wouldn’t put it above him to not know how to set a bonfire adequately. She moved the body closer to the set up hearth, but not close enough that someone could be suspicious of why McLaggen didn’t wake up when the fire started catching. Eying the scene, she nodded to herself satisfied and started casting. First, a Finite, to cancel the lightness charm in case anyone were to stumble upon the remains, followed up with a thorough Scourgify to get rid of any evidence of her ever touching the body or her father’s equipment. Finally, she send two strong Incendios to lit both the body and the hearth on fire, followed up by a quick Ventus to fuel and shape the flames. She wasn’t sure if it was the smell of the burning remains and black smoke in the air that caused her eyes to water and throat to throb or if it was her guilty conciseness making itself known, but she stood there, watching Cormac’s body melt and char until the fire died out. The sky was a murky grey, when she finally left the glade with a quiet “pop”.
Rummaging through her mind further, she found the memory of apparating back to her childhood home, long-vacant of any signs of her parents or any living people, and slipping under the cold, dust-covered sheets. It was the last one of that night that she had, before succumbing into a restless sleep. And now, she stood half naked in a place she didn't recognise, confused, vulnerable and worst of all, unarmed, as the last location of her wand known to her was the shabby bedside table she placed it on earlier that night. She groaned under her breath at her own stupidity and naivety to believe that hiding in the muggle world, much more in her old neighbourhood, offered her any more safety and security than the grounds of Forest of Dean. She should have apparated away a few more times to shake off and confuse the bounty hunters and find a different location to settle down again.
It was painfully obvious to her now that someone, sooner or later, would put some kind of alerting or monitoring wards up in her old home in case she ever showed up there. Her face morphed into a scowl. She might've had as well popped up in the middle of Diagon Alley at midday and cried out "I'm right here!" for everyone to hear. It truly would make no difference in the level of recklessness and gullibility that she allowed herself to demonstrate tonight. She was foolish and now she’ll pay the price.
She knew that Tom’s search for her was getting more and more intense as the days went by. He was relentless, and apparently growing impatient these days as he was sending more and more troops after her. The Snatchers were agitated, becoming more violent each time she stumbled upon them. She knew with no doubt that they were terrified for their own lives and just wanted to get the job done, but she wasn’t an easy prey. She would rather see them dead or finish them off herself, then let herself get carried over to the madman. She knew what he wanted from her, she was all more than aware of the fact that they were distantly related and possessed the same magical ability and that he was watching her through-out her years at Hogwarts. It didn’t mean, however, that she was interested in a family reunion of any kind or dying at his hand if he felt like his position or power were in any way threatened, thank you very much. But it also didn’t mean that she was interested in going against him in any way, other than disobeying his orders to come to him by staying hidden and on the run. But the stubborn bastard just couldn’t let it go, his sick fixation on her growing stronger and stronger as time went on. Her house had enough Death Eater spawn in it to make sure he was always informed of her whereabouts after her heritage became known when a pureblood 5th year almost died after attacking her at the start of her first year.
She didn’t appreciate being ambushed in a place she belonged by birth-right, so when she unwisely conjured a venomous elapid and hissed out the commands in the suddenly deadly quiet common room and it attacked the older girl, first striking her and then coiling itself up around her neck tighter and tighter, until she hissed at it to stop and banished it before leaving the room, everyone knew whose blood was running through her veins. After that, no further accidents took place, but she could see and feel the lingering stares, as well as hear the hushed whispers about her. She made no point of making friends with her housemates, deciding to only stay cordial and engage in brief conversations when needed, but somehow still ended up at the top of the food chain. Her disgraced Gaunt lineage and half muddy blood by damned, she was as Slytherin as one could get apparently, and so people started drifting towards her. Focusing on her studies, she quickly gained the renown from the teachers and landed herself access to the Restricted Section of the library. Becoming first of her year wasn’t hard after that. Her Head of House, Professor Snape, was eyeing her with a well-hidden curiosity during the Potions, but it was Quirrell, the incompetent stuttering mess of a teacher, who was paying her the most attention out of the teaching staff.
She could feel the weight of his evaluating stare wherever she went. His gaze made her uncomfortable, a feeling of unease settling deep into her core, whenever she entered the same room or had to turn her back on him. Each time his attention was on her, the hair on her nape and arms would stand up, and a cold sweat would break out on the small of her back. Her heart would beat rapidly, fighting against her ribcage, blood humming loudly in her ears. She felt like prey stalking in the peripheral vision of a predator, her body choosing to flight. She didn’t understand it, not really, but she somehow knew he was dangerous, she just didn’t now in which way. But there was nothing she couldn’t learn, and so one day, against better odds, she did.
She was sitting outside alone, near the Black Lake cradling a lost baby viper and hissing soft encouragements in its little face, when he suddenly appeared at her side. She looked up startled, dropping the little snake into the withering grass.
“P-professor Quirrell!” She stuttered out, her voice cracking. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat, her cheeks reddening. “Good afternoon, sir”
“Good afternoon indeed, Miss.. Granger”, he answered calmly, his usual stutter gone. “May I inquire as to why you’re outside by yourself toying with snakes?” he asked tilting his head slightly, his tone both reverent and cautionary.
“I-“, she glanced down on the yellowing grass, noticing the small brown viper laying right where she dropped him a moment before and back to her teacher “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think it’s a matter concerning you” she stated, trying to keep her voice as flat and dignified as possible as she offered her hand back to the snake. Looking up, it flicked its tongue and started making its way up her outstretched palm.
She was aware that disclosing her heritage and being a parselmouth outside of the Slytherin common room was an unwise move, that could make her live harder moving onwards, but making it known that she had an affinity for reptiles couldn’t hurt. After all, any animal could become a familiar.
Quirrell quirked his brow at her statement “Is it now?”
And then he smirked and hissed. And before she realized what she was doing, she hissed back.
“That’s impossible!” she stood up rapidly, taking a step towards the man, her eyes narrowing to slits “I’m the last accounted for of the line after Riddle’s demise, so who, in the bloody hell, are you!?” she hissed, closing the distance between them.
He chuckled in response, but his eyes stayed cold as he stared down at her “It’s nice to meet you, Hermione. I only wish it was under different circumstances.” After that, he turned around and left. And then the Philosopher’s Stone mess with Harry Potter happened, and she learned just who she was speaking to that day.
She heaved a sigh, rubbing her face. The hearth was already burned out, the ash shining with last dying embers, making it even harder to make out the objects in the darkness washing over the room she woke up in. She made her way towards the fire place and knelt in front of it, palms outstretched towards it. Closing her eyes and focusing on her magical core, she started pulling at its reserves. Feeling her hands warm up, she directed the flow of the collected energy towards the ashen logs and let it charge forward unrestricted. She heard the crackle of fire and felt the blast of heat against her skin as the hearth roared back to life. She felt herself smile as she stood up. Wandless magic was never her strongest pursuit, and even though she was still sloppy and needed to gather herself and concentrate each time she used it, she was getting better at it lately. She glanced around the room, trying to gather as much information as she could about her whereabouts. She was in a sitting room of a run down, abounded mansion, that was sure from the state and smell of it. The pungent mildew she was worried about earlier was still present in her nostrils whenever she took a deeper breath. She grimaced. Taking a few steps forward, she landed in front of a grand, in its prime at least she thought, bookshelf loaded with so many books it was bending under their weight. Swiping her eyes through its contents, but not daring to touch them without her wand in case a curse was placed upon them, she realized just where she was. Her suspicions were proven right when she turned back and her eyes landed on the family crest mounted above the liquor table on the opposite wall. Riddle House.
“Little Hangleton” she groaned and slumped down in defeat on the seatee closest to her trying not to shudder in disgust “I give up Tom” she hissed out into the supposedly empty room and just as she was about to close her eyes, she heard him chuckle.