washed to the undertow
Hermione
Narcissa had come to visit her regularly. For a few hours a day, Hermione was held afloat by the gentle presence of Narcissa Malfoy, instead of the churning waters of her mind. Even days after her introduction to Evan, Hermione was confused. And angry. She was so bloody angry at all the people playing with her life like she was a chess piece. They all had expectations for her. A role that they were willing to break her to make her fit into. First Dumbledore, then Harry and the Order, Mattheo, and Tom. She didn't want to be continuously broken and remade in someone else's image. She refused to hold onto anyone else’s morals beyond her own anymore. The adults. People she should've trusted to know right from wrong had repeatedly failed her.
So she silently gathered her thoughts, while the soft sound of Narcissa’s steady presence soothed her. She’d come to appreciate the woman. Her gentle but fierce nature was a balm. More than once Hermione had begun to spiral, and each time Narcissa was there, her palm cupped Hermione’s cheek, her voice a lifeline as it pulled Hermione out of living nightmares. She’d held her broken edges together as Hermione fell apart in her arms, stroking her hair and rocking her gently like a mother might her babe. Narcissa was nothing like she had expected, nothing like any of the mothers she'd known up till now. She wasn't overbearing like Molly or removed like her own mother. She watched over Hermione diligently while respecting her boundaries, and it made Hermione wonder if her birth mother would've been the same.
She began talking out loud, venting her anger and frustration to a woman she barely knew but had saved her. For reasons that escaped her, Narcissa’s station within Lord Voldemort's organisation was of little consequence. She just needed someone to listen, to nod and validate her pendulum of conflicted feelings. She loved Harry. How can she love him while being staunchly against Dumbledore's actions?
Hermione had held the Order and its members as paragons of goodness. A shining beacon of resilience against dark forces within the Wizarding World. People who were willing to sacrifice themselves to do what was right. It was a pedestal that even she did not live up to. She’d fought for what she thought was right. Safeguarded Harry, willing to blur the lines between right and wrong for her own sense of the greater good. What a folly that seemed now. Not for defending Harry, but for putting blind trust in Dumbledore.
She asked Narcissa, tear-rimmed eyes and hands sunken in her hair pulling at the root. “Who am I now? What am I supposed to do?”
Narcissa's voice was soft, her thumb rubbing soothing patterns on the top of her hand, “You have a chance very few get at life, Hermione. An opportunity to become whoever you want to be.”
She’d tried to argue. Tried to point out the crushing weight of expectation, bonds that held her captive in the middle of a fight she didn't want to participate in.
Narcissa lifted her hand and cupped her cheek once again, understanding shining in those pale grey eyes of hers. She seemed to be taking Hermione in for a moment, mapping her face with an understanding and warmth that Hermione had never known.
A single tear fell before she spoke again, “You are so much like her. I see her in your determination. Your strength. Your intelligence. You are a force, Hermione. Whatever choice you make will be the right one, because it's what you choose for yourself. Without deceit, or lack of knowledge. You have all the tools to make informed decisions now. To choose what is best for yourself. You don’t owe anyone anything. Not after all you've suffered through- all you've sacrificed- all you've survived. Live for Hermione, and show them, you will not be led. Show them you are a force to be reckoned with. Not another pawn to move at their leisure.”
Days passed before Hermione was willing to leave the safety of her bed, and a few more before she was willing to speak to Mattheo. He’d tried to explain. Beating at her door while yelling that it wasn't his choice. He was sorry. He hadn’t meant to deceive her.
On the fifth day of her punishing silent treatment, she opened the door. He was still lying on the floor, his clothes rumpled, a pillow under his head wrapped partially by a throw. She couldn't fight the smile that tugged at her lips. The sight of him camped out in front of her door.
She’d had time to think things over and realized that beyond this one infraction, Mattheo had been nothing but honest with her. She’d done far more to him than he’d to her. Hurt him far more deeply.
She bent down and gently grasped his shoulder, nudging him awake. He was up, wand in hand, and back to her door. Ready in an instant to stand between her and any danger that might be waiting in the corridor.
With a chuckle under her breath, she called to him, “It's just me Matty.”
He turned around to face her slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook her by moving too fast. She took him in for a moment, feeling responsible for his haggard appearance, before letting the guilt roll off of her. She needed to stop taking on the care of everyone else's well-being as her own responsibility when she was still hanging on by a thread.
“Mia-”
He didn't need to say anything more. She wrapped her hands around his waist and burrowed her head into his chest. With a scrunched face she pulled back and smiled up at him.
“You stink. Go shower, we’ve got work to do.”
Antonin
Antonin wondered if the pull to be with the little witch was more potent for him because he knew of the bond. Thorfinn just had this unknown urge to be around her, an instinctual need to protect her. But he knew, after pouring over ancient tomes in the castle's library, there was no other reason for such marks to appear. Marks that only appeared after they did the ritual to save her.
He was caught between anger and excitement when he’d come to his conclusion. That beautiful little witch, clever enough to silence him on instinct at the Ministry, who’d been marked permanently by his curse had subsequently marked him. Not only him but she’d marked Thorfinn, who Antonin had marked himself in Alcatraz. She had no idea the power she wielded, but he knew, he knew who and what she was. What she would be capable of.
Antonin needed to see the others from the ritual and needed to know if they were marked as Thorfinn and himself were.
There was little reason for them all to be in the same place at the same time unless ordered to be so, and together they made an odd bunch. All connected like a web, connections crisscrossing and weaving around them. Hermione or Khalida, he was unsure of what to call her, sat a ways away with Mattheo and his friends. They formed a protective circle around her while keeping a respectful distance. It irritated him, their closeness to her. Their ability to get close so easily. They weren't burdened by the obstacles that kept her soulmates at arm's reach. No age gap, former maiming, or past in Azkaban.
No matter. She wasn't for them. She was ours.
Thorfinn stood close by, brows furrowed and fists clenched at the sight of Draco playfully shoving their witch. A rumble coming from his chest. “Calm yourself, Finn.”
He didn't want to bring any attention to them, content to watch from the relative shadows though he knew the group was aware of his presence. Evan stood watch closer to the group, only a few feet away from Mattheo closer to Hermione. Severus had walked into the room moments earlier to deliver potions for her and now stood next to Evan.
Antonin knew he needed to talk to them. Needed to see if Hermione had others. There were few logical options, Lucius was married, Tom and Mattheo were blood-related to her, and the only other people who participated in the ritual were Severus, Evan, and Regulus. It was too risky to just come out and ask them. He planned to lure them into conversation and have Evan roll his sleeves while they talked. Hopefully bringing attention to his mark, their reaction would be answered enough.
“Is there something that you require Dolohov? I have things to do.” Snape drawled.
“Shaping the minds of Britain's young wixen or getting on your back for Dumbledore?”
Evan tensed at his comment. Interesting. Despite needing Snape’s presence Antonin couldn't help but goad the man.
Evan interjected, “What do you want Dolohov?”
Antonin bristled at his tone, they’d all schooled together, he’d taken Regulus and Evan under his wing when they’d joined and yet they'd barely acknowledged him at all. He chose to ignore it. Perhaps they thought him mad now, after all those years in Azkaban. He’d always had a bit of madness to him regardless.
He discreetly glanced at Thorfinn who pushed both sleeves of his navy button-down dress shirt to his elbows, proudly displaying not only his tattooed forearms but Hermione's feather. Dolohov kept his eyes on Severus and Evan, “It's odd to see us all returned is it not? Fate is a fickle thing.” He cringed internally at his forwardness. The walls have eyes and ears but this was too important. Here in the halls of Slytherin’s castle, he knew that the head of all of their house was probably rolling in his grave at Antonin's lack of self-preservation.
Evans' eyes were glued to Thorfinn’s mark, leading Severus to look as well. Snape’s eyes widened a fraction before the impassive mask he wore daily returned, Evan had no such ability. Not after years away from the company of fellow snakes.
Rosier opened his mouth to speak but Severus interrupted, “Not here,” turning to glance over his shoulder at the group of students still sitting together. “Tonight, at the rear entrance to the hedge maze. Bring Regulus.”
He left in the same way he does everything. Dramatically. They talked amongst themselves for a moment about nothing in particular. Not wanting to all disperse at the same time and attract unwanted attention.
Time crawled at a snail's pace, Thorfinns exasperation growing as the day dragged on. They walked towards the maze together, Thorfinn had resorted to the childish antic of ignoring him as punishment. He stopped walking and waited for Finn to notice.
“Yebanyy volk! Enough with the attitude. You're acting like someone shoved a wand up your ass.”
Finn threw his hands up in exasperation, “I wouldn’t have an attitude if you would just tell me the truth.”
“We are literally on the way to meet the others, so I can share my suspicions.”
Thorfinn advanced on him, his jaw set and fire dancing in his eyes, “You should've told me first. We share a fucking room for Merlin's sake! I came here for you, and you're already keeping secrets from me.”
Antonin grabbed him by his collar and shook him, their faces an inch apart when he snarled his response, “You came here for yourself, mudak. I gave you an opportunity. Placed it at your feet and now I’ve given you something else. Someone else. Shut the fuck up and put your big boy trousers on.”
He shoved Thorfinn away and kept walking towards the maze. Knowing he would follow.
They were all waiting when he rounded the corner. Regulus and Evan murmured to each other while Snape watched stone-faced.
“The feather, how many of you all have one?”
His question was met with silence and suspicion and he internally rolled his eyes. Snakes through and through.
Regulus stepped forward and crossed his arms, “Tell us what they mean first.”
Dolohov chuckled, of course, they’d want answers first. “The feather appeared after the ritual for Hermione, covering an old scar. Since then there have been… urges. To be near the girl. To protect her. Possess her.”
“Careful Dolohov,” Rosier chided.
He looked at the group, once again waiting for them to reveal their secrets. “I just need to know how many of us there are. How many were marked by her.”
“Us? You’ve got one as well then?” Snape inquired.
“My lower back, You?”
“I don’t-” Severus started speaking but was quickly interrupted by Evan.
“Neck. It's on the back of his neck.”
Severus scowled at the response but remained silent.
Dolohov looked at Regulus again and lifted his brow in question. The wizard shook his head and fell to the back of the group. Content to stay in the shadows and observe. “You don’t need to be here skulking in the shadows Black. This doesn’t pertain to you.”
“You're right, but I might be able to offer assistance. It doesn't take a genius to deduce they are soulmate marks, Dolohov. You all will need help.”
“Any suggestions then?”
“You keep it to yourselves for now. Let the girl heal.”
Thorfinn’s voice was quiet when he spoke, “Soulmate marks?”
Snape cursed, “We are all going to die.”
Dolohov chuckled at his fatalist attitude, “Always so dramatic Snape.”
Severus’ voice steadily rose before he shook his head in disbelief. “I had little hope for surviving this upcoming war regardless, but looks like I’ll have some company in the afterlife. Our Lord is not a forgiving man. How do you think he will respond when he finds out we've all been marked for her? The daughter he just got back. Who barely leaves her room and is still recovering from the Ministry. Where you half maimed her.” Severus’ voice steadily rose before he shook his head in disbelief, his finger pointed at Antonin in accusation.
“We do nothing. We follow orders and keep our heads down.”
Thorfinn and Dolohov protested, advancing on Snape.
“For now- keep away from her Dolohov. I have no qualms about removing you from the equation.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean Snape? Are you threatening me letuchaya mysh?”
Evan shoved past him, “It means you've done enough Dolohov.”
************
Translations:
Yebanyy volk- fucking wolf
Mudak- asshole
Letuchaya mysh - bat