Mirror Image

The book in Hermione’s lap was open, but she wasn’t reading it. She was thinking about Narcissa and Lucius, their fight in the early light of dawn. The way they’d tried to be quiet, tried to keep their volume down, even though they were in the kitchen with an entire wing of the Manor between them and the bedrooms where Hermione and the boys slept. It was a stark contrast the the way Molly and Sirius had fought as loud as possible, almost like they wanted their younger guests to know what they were fighting about, wanted them to ask. Hermione had only overheard because she’d been sneaking to the kitchen herself, unable to sleep past the break of dawn light.

It had been about the Death Eaters. Lucius was urging Narcissa to take Draco, Theo, and Hermione to France. He’d stay with Toma if he truly wished to see through his plan to go to Hogwarts, but the others needed to leave now while they still could. Lucius had gotten word from his contacts in the Ministry that a verified Death Eater attack had left three Muggle-born witches and wizards in St. Mungo’s in serious condition, and they very might die. 

It was too much like the attacks during the first war for Lucius’ liking. It had reignited his fear and anxiety from a decade ago. But Narcissa wanted to keep the family together, face this thing together no matter what came next, and she had told him as much. This time, things would be different. This time, the wizarding world knew what it meant, they would act early. They wouldn’t stand for the senseless violence of the Death Eaters, or the Order. The people would speak up this time. This time, things would be different.

The war. They were debating the coming war, sensing the danger they were in without even understanding it fully.

Even hours after Hermione had heard them, it was batting around her mind. Even as the train raced towards Hogwarts, she was thinking about Narcissa and Lucius fighting over the new war, the renewed violence of two extremist groups that were forcibly closer to their family than they would ever have liked.

It was a threat. There was no doubt in Hermione’s mind the Death Eaters would kill her for her parentage, Draco and Theo for being her betrothed, Lucius and Narcissa for taking Hermione in. And they’d be disgusted by their own leader in this new form, the man Hermione had brought back and molded to fit her plans as much as she fit his. The proud man who told any and all he was a Half-blood, even if it was used as a means to his own desires.

The Order, too, would see Hermione as a traitor to the cause, as suspect for even associating with Pureblood families. They would assume they knew Draco and Theo’s stories, and they would kill Toma. Where the Death Eaters would assume they were all traitors to their blood, the Order would assume they were traitors to morality itself. There was no sin like that of disobeying Dumbledore.

But Lucius and Narcissa didn’t know their children - Theodore and Hermione included - were a part of the war already. Their children were preparing to fight against both sides with politics and social influence this time. Toma was the key to ending the Death Eaters this time instead of leading them, and Hermione was going to help him put an end to the so-called Order of the Light side. 

They didn’t know Hermione and Draco and Theo were going to make the Order irrelevant, were going to make the very idea of blood-purity nonsensical. 

It preyed on Lucius and Narcissa’s minds, and Hermione couldn’t put them at ease, no matter how much she would have liked to.

The pendant under her shirt, tucked between her breasts and pressed against her sternum, was warm from hours of body heat.

“-gone? Hermione, are you even listening to me?”

A hand connected with Hermione’s shoulder hard and she jerked away, snapping the book shut in her lap. “Sorry,” she said. “What?”

Ron gave an exacerbated sigh, his new Prefect badge shining in the harsh light of the compartment, and Harry shook his head, and Hermione bit back the urge to snap at them both.

Ginny, though, just smiled in that way to say pay attention this time. “Where did Crookshanks go?”

Hermione blinked. Crookshanks had been antsy this year getting into his basket for the train trip, and as soon as Hermione had found an empty compartment, she’d let him out to sit on the benches with her. But he’d scratched at the door until Hermione let him out into the main hall of the train. He’d surely come back before they got to the castle, but Hermione had a feeling he was with Theo and Draco in whatever compartment they were all in. The last few weeks, Crookshanks had been spending the night with Draco in his room, and he tended to seek out those people who were most in need of his company. Draco must have been stressed to return to school - he was newly betrothed, with the Dark Lord as his house guest and personal friend.

“I let him out,” she said simply. “He’ll come back from wandering when he’s ready.”

“Well, as a Prefect, I can’t say I condone animals wandering around the train,” Ron said, puffing out his chest a little bit. That’s right, he was still parading himself around like he was God’s greatest gift on Earth, all because Dumbledore had seen it fit to make Ronald Weasley a Prefect. And Hermione would be forced to serve with him, taking nightly patrols and enforcing rule alongside this oaf of a boy. Draco, though, had gotten Prefect in Slytherin, and part of Hermione wished she was there, in the House of Snakes, if for no other reason than she could have spent late nights walking the castle with Draco at her side.

“There are no rules against familiars being free of their carriers on the train,” Hermione said stiffly. “You can’t enforce rules that don’t exist, Ronald.”

~~~

Draco got off the train in his Muggle suit - black, leather shoes, black slacks, black turtleneck sweater, and a black blazer. It was one of Hermione’s favorite looks, slim and sharp and every bit aristocratic as the Malfoys were. Theo wasn’t with him, though.

One look behind her shoulder and Hermione spotted him with Toma, wearing his own Muggle fashions. And again, he’d stolen something from his partners and was wearing one of Draco’s woolen sweaters.

Hermione turned back to Draco when she heard him snap at Harry. It was likely him just winding Harry up, keeping up their rivalry on Toma’s orders, but it was sharp. His words were crisp and cold.

He’d had a fight with someone, then. He was only that frigid when he was hurt.

~~~

The carriages were, as always, packed. Hermione desperately wanted to be put on one with the boys, but she was perpetually flanked by Ron and Harry from the moment they boarded the train, and she was stuck waiting for an open carriage with them.

Neville, too, joined them. He was holding a plant, strange and cactus-like. And as they all stepped onto the next carriage, Hermione found herself in the difficult position of taking a seat by the bizarre plant, or by Ron. She ended up squeezing in with Harry.

“Everyone,” she said, cordially. “This is Loony-” A breath. “Luna Lovegood.”

Everyone stared at the blonde across from them. She wasn’t someone to miss, even if they weren’t friends with her. She had the kind of blonde hair that Draco did, and Hermione wondered if there was a connection between her family and the Malfoys.

“Interesting necklace,” Hermione remarked, when no one else said anything.

“It’s a charm, actually,” Luna said, pulling it away from her chest. “It keeps away the nargles. Not that you would have that trouble, they don’t go for women already spoken for.”

Everyone just stared, confused and lost and Hermione was thankful for the first time for Luna’s bizarre reputation.

~~~

Hogwarts was as magnificent as ever. Hermione had always found the castle breathtakingly beautiful, through the fall, winter, spring, and summer. The start of the school year was a particularly beautiful time, with the Great Hall covered in pumpkins, squash, orange and red leaves, ornamental corn cobs, and candles. Hermione loved fall time anyways when the weather got cooler and the colors of the world around her turned deep and rich, but there was something particularly gorgeous about her favorite season in the castle.

From the moment Hermione stepped foot in the castle, her worries about Toma, about her relationship, and about everything that had happened over summer disappeared. There was nothing but the smell of fresh pumpkin juice, apple pies, and stuffed mushrooms. There was nothing but her home away from home and all these people who made Hogwarts special. Even Harry and Ron, as much as they annoyed her in recent years, were a part of the castle she loved so much. She found herself forgetting worries about Ron’s new position and Harry’s growing paranoia about the Death Eaters in the beauty of the castle.

It was hard to place why Hogwarts had meant so much to her before, when she still lived at home. After she’d moved into the Manor, after she’d inserted herself into their family and learned about who she was as a witch, she’d suddenly recognized it. She had always been so enamored, so at-home in this castle, because it had been her only wizarding home. It was the only place she felt she wasn’t alone, where her proclivity for magic wasn’t what made her weird.

It was the only place where the core of her being was accepted.

No, here it was just the way she sought out information, books, and extra credit that made her stand out. It wasn’t her very being that made her different, it was her parentage that set her apart. It was palatable to be hated for her parents so long as no one hated her for being herself.

At Hogwarts, Hermione had been closer to normal than she ever had before.

There was a crowd of First Years waiting to be sorted as Hermione took her seat at the Gryffindor table, but before McGonagall could begin to call names, the hat took a great gasp of air and began to sing. Hermione loved the hat’s songs, always so cheerful and fun to listen to. Ditties about history and the castle. This year, however, the song was darker. Hermione found herself narrowing her eyes at the later half - Hogwarts facing deadly foes outside of these stone walls. An urging to band together. It was strange, and forbidding, and clearly the hat’s way of warning them.

“What was that about?” Harry asked in a low tone, leaning over the table to where Hermione was sitting. Ron to his side shook his head.

“It was weird, is what it was.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It means the Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts,” she said, nodding a bit towards the teacher’s table. Harry got the hint and looked. There was a woman where Moody had sat last year, looking smug and disgustingly happy about her own position at the table.

“That woman,” Harry said. “She was at my trial.”

“Who is it?” Hermione asked, suddenly very, very aware of Toma standing at the back of the hall. They didn’t need Ministry eyes on them now.

“Some Secretary,” Harry said. “She’s one of Fudge’s people. Who doesn’t think the Death Eaters are a real threat. Fudge thinks Dumbledore is using the Death Eaters as a distraction so he can be the leader of the Order again. Fudge thinks Dumbledore is going to start a coup.”

Hermione scoffed. It was unthinkable to believe the Death Eaters weren’t a problem after they’d infiltrated Hogwarts, but there was a certain level of humor in it, too. This woman was put here, in the very same job the Death Eaters had tried to take last year, on Fudge’s orders, to keep Dumbledore in line. And yet, there was someone far more worrisome than the Death Eaters and Dumbledore in the room, and no one had spared him a thought.

Hermione could only hope they wouldn’t notice Toma when he was sorted. She could only hope his disguise would work.

The hat finished its song, and then McGonagall stepped forward to call names. The First Years looked particularly tiny this year, but it was just a trick of memory. Hermione found herself clapping more and more for the First Years sorted into Slytherin. She was able to pass it as being a good Prefect, a model of House unity, a kind, friendly face. In reality, she was pleased for them as much as she was pleased for the new Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors. Draco welcomed them all to his table with a strong pat on the back and hurried, whispered words of encouragement. It was sweet. Hermione found it deliriously endearing, a mark of how kind Draco could really be. He would make a good father one day, and the thought was playing on repeat in her head.

And then McGonagall called for Toma Grozdanov and the Hall fell silent as this man strutted forward, towards the Hat. He was wearing his Muggle jeans - no, those were Theodore’s Muggle jeans with the elaborate stitching on the back pockets, and he wore a jumper. Good, thought Hermione. Don’t just rely on the hair and the eyes, look the part in every way. Be a muggle.

Toma didn’t even look at Dumbledore, only at McGonagall, but Dumbledore seemed to be frozen in place. His eyes were locked onto Toma, his face was still and concentrated. Was he a Legilimens? Hermione felt her heartbeat pick up.

Toma sat in the stool, his earrings catching the candlelight and his long legs bent at the knees. He lifted one foot and let it balance on the brace between two of the stool’s legs, and Hermione heard more than one girl at the table sigh or gasp or otherwise swoon. It would have been funnier if Hermione’s breath wasn’t stuck in her chest behind her ribs like some animal in a cage.

She wanted to look over at Draco and Theo, to have their reassurance, but she couldn’t risk being any more suspicious. She couldn’t draw attention to herself when it was clear Dumbledore was watching the Hall for any sign of wrongness. Any show of fear, of uncertainty, of knowing this wasn’t just another student.

“Stop,” Dumbledore suddenly called, the Hat just inches from Toma’s head. Hermione’s breath stumbled from her lips, and her eyes flicked to Draco and Theo. They didn’t look back at her, keeping their eyes on where Dumbledore was suddenly making his way to Toma, robes wafting as he rounded the table. Beside them, Zabini, Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle were watching the drama with wide, excited eyes. It was a stark difference to the way Draco’s own eyes were wide with something fearful, or the way Theo’s knuckles were white around the goblet in his hand. “Who is this?”

McGonagall was wearing that look on her face like she was shocked at Dumbledore’s actions, his gall to interrupt the sorting. Hermione had seen it a few times before, but never so publicly, never in front of the entire school.

Hermione couldn’t hold her breath anymore, that choice had been taken from her long ago, and if she couldn’t hold it, she would use it fast and hard, her breath coming in short bursts. No one around her seemed to notice, but when she focused on Theo in her peripheral vision, she could see he was watching her now. Undoubtedly, he had noticed her panic, and she was always Theo’s priority over whatever drama was unfolding around them.

“Professor Dumbledore!” McGonagall said, scandalized and disapproving. “This is a transfer student!”

“Hogwarts only accepts transfer students in very specific, very rare conditions,” Dumbledore said as he leered into Toma’s space. If Hermione didn’t know him, she would have said Toma looked scared, or maybe just distressed, but she did know him. Toma was, above all else, a remarkable actor. He shied away under Dumbledore’s stare, playing something meek and scared. Something shy.

Somewhere further down the table, Hermione heard someone say something about Dumbledore treating Toma poorly.

Dumbledore’s words were drawing confused, upset glances around the room. He’d always been  so concrete in his claim that Hogwarts was a place for everyone who needed it, would welcome anyone who walked through its doors, but now he was publicly, loudly reversing his position on that. Even Harry had his eyes narrowed - Hermione wasn’t sure if that was because of Dumbledore’s words, or because he recognized Toma from Diagon Alley.

McGonagall pushed her way between Dumbledore and Toma, and she huffed. “Mister Grozdanov was sent to England after the events of last year. His family wishes for him to get some distance from Death Eaters and believed you would be the best caretaker, Albus.”

Toma glanced up at the man, still playing the scared, uncertain teenager, and Dumbledore seemed to be warring with himself. It was clear he didn’t believe McGonagall or Toma, but he had no proof otherwise. And Hermione had done a remarkable job - Toma did not look like the Tom Riddle of fifty years ago. To deny entry to this child seeking refuge from the very threat Dumbledore was fighting, while the Ministry maintained their position there was no such threat at all, would be effectively telling the Wizarding world that he’d been wrong. It was something of an impossible puzzle, one with no clear answer and no clear winner.

Except Toma. Toma won the moment Dumbledore stepped back and allowed the hat to be lowered onto the teen’s head. He stayed close, almost as if he hoped to hear some kind of admission from the hat, but nothing happened. For a full 3 minutes, there was silence in the Great Hall. No one reached for their food, no one knocked their cups against pitchers, no one said anything. Nothing happened but the twisting of the hat, a performative startle from Toma, and then-

“Gryffindor!”

~~~

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Dinner had been a stilted, awkward affair for Hermione after Toma’s sorting. Draco and Theo had been preparing to have Toma in their common room, sleeping in their dorms. They were going to befriend him, pull him into their tight-knit circle of friends. There was never even a consideration that he might end up in another House, at least not for Hermione and the boys.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

Toma took to Gryffindor well, though. He didn’t hide his half-blood status, showing off his Muggle earrings to the likes of Fred and George, and most of the girls were falling all over him. He was the newest, shiniest toy in the Tower, and he played the part well. Hermione could see him preen at the attention, and she gave him exactly one warning look before he seemed to remember that he wasn’t supposed to be a God revered by these kids, he was just supposed to be well-liked. Popular, but never pompous.

It was Harry and Ron who took the greatest offense to this new Gryffindor, and it was only because they’d seen him with Draco and Theo on Diagon Alley. They had grumbled about it, they’d even confronted him about it in the common room when everyone had gone to bed. Toma didn’t seem to give the boys the attention they were hoping for - he told them he was Theodore’s distant cousin, that he was staying with him out of family obligation and convenience, and he wasn’t a blood purist. And then he’d turned to Hermione, sitting at one of the work tables in the common room keeping herself busy and out of the way, and extended a hand.

“Toma Grozdanov,” he said, introducing himself smoothly. His lip twitched, the closest Hermione had seen him to losing his unaffected composure, and Hermione extended her hand. “I don’t think we met officially before.”

“Hermione Granger,” she replied, taking his hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m sure you’ll fit right in here.”

~~~

Hermione woke up in total darkness. It took her a second to figure out what had woken her up - Crookshanks was at her feet, curled into a ball and silent. The girls in her room, too, they were all quiet except for Lavender, who always had a slight, purr-like snore. It wasn’t that, and it wasn’t yet dawn, so what had-

The pendant on her chest burned, and Hermione jolted in bed, her mattress groaning with the sudden shift in her weight. The necklace had never burned like this before, and Hermione didn’t know what the hell she was supposed to do about it. Was Toma waiting for her in the common room? Was there a message on the pendant?

Hermione looked around the dorm room as if someone might see her despite it being the middle of the night, and then she pulled the necklace from inside of her pajama top. It was indeed hot, the heat of it increasing until it was almost burning her fingertips, and there was something etched into the metal. Hermione slipped out of bed and kicked her feet into slippers before she went to the window, tilting the necklace into the moonlight.

Hold on tight.

As soon as she’d read the words, they faded away and Hermione felt a familiar tug in her navel. It wasn’t like Disapperation or travel by Portkey, it was more like Hermione was slipping down a playground slide. It was fast, the world around her a blur, but she could still make out where she was when she saw a particularly well-known marker. The Fat Lady, the changing staircases, the empty hallway-

Hermione landed harshly, her feet slamming into the ground as if they’d landed flat, no margin of error, completely connected to the ground. Her legs shook, and her whole body ached, and a study hand flew out to steady her.

A warm hand.

Hermione turned, and there was Theodore at her side. Behind him, Draco, and both of them were looking concerned. Theo smiled reassuringly before catching Hermione’s other hand and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. Then she was practically spun into Draco’s arms, where she received another kiss, harder this time.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since you left this morning for the train,” he whispered.

“Enough,” Toma said. “I didn’t call you all here so you could kiss.”

“Actually,” Theo said, spinning his wand in his hand. It was then that Hermione realized Theo and Draco were both in pajama sets like hers - Narcissa’s influence clearly - but Toma was dressed in his Hogwarts robes as though he’d never gone to bed at all. “You told us you wanted us to know about this place specifically so we could see one another.”

“We thought kissing was a logical conclusion,” Draco added, and Hermione laughed.

Toma didn’t laugh or even crack a smile, but he rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. Hermione found her footing, stable and sure, and stepped away from her boyfriends.

They were in a large, well-lit room. Candles suspended from the air, like they were in the Great Hall, cast a golden light across the entire space. There were old, beautiful rugs on the ground, and an open fireplace in the center of the room emanated heat on all sides. There was a wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and across from that was a set of three couches, plush and soft. In the far corner, under a draping, mesh-canopy, there was a round bed dressed in white and grey linens.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“The Room of Requirement,” Toma said. “A place in Hogwarts for anyone who needs it, for whatever they need it for.”

“Incredible,” Theo said. “It can be anything?”

“Anything,” Toma said. “As a student years ago, I used it as a hiding place. And as a classroom for my own experiments. The rules of the room are simple. When you wish to use the room, you simply walk past this empty hall three times and concentrate on what you most want at the moment. I asked for a place to meet and discuss difficult topics, and this is what I got.”

Hermione smiled. “This is wonderful magic.”

“It is,” Toma agreed. Hermione dragged her eyes up to him and smiled wider.

“As was the magic you used to call me here,” she said.

Toma’s lips finally broke into a proper smile, something Hermione hadn’t seen in a few days now. He nodded at the pendant hanging around Hermione’s neck, laying on the flannel of her top. She looked down at it and quickly dropped it back under her shirt and out of sight.

“It’s the same magic that allowed Death Eaters from the first war to travel in smoke shots,” he said. “Tonight seemed a good time to discuss what a call would look like.”

“So when you need us, you’ll call us through these pendants?” Draco asked. “Same as tonight?”

“They’ll warm up in warning,” Toma said. “Or to notify you there is a message for you. You’ll know when I’m calling you with the smoke when the pendants are nearly too hot to hold.”

It truly was incredible magic. The kind of magic that reminded Hermione how much she didn’t know about magic, how much was possible, how much she’d been limited in the last years by Hogwarts teachers.

“And this room?” Draco asked.

“For our meetings,” Toma said. “And for the three of you to meet. It’s incredibly private, and there’s very few people who know this room exists. You three can fulfill your weekly dates here.”

“Aw, he really does care about us,” Theo cooed. “Even if he says otherwise.”

Hermione found it hard to remember the harsh words and harsher treatment from just the other night when they were joking, standing here in this room Toma had found for them all, Theo and Draco at her side, and Toma in a red and gold tie. It was much easier to think of them as friends, as allies. It was much easier to picture sharing a common room with Toma as friends, rather than as master and servant.

It was much easier to keep lying to Harry and Ron when she was doing it for her friends.