Reunion
April 1948
When Hermione closed up the used book shop for the night, the four figures standing outside in the alleyway had been the last people she’d ever expected to see anywhere near her little shop. They were four familiar figures, to be certain; they’d all graduated from Hogwarts with her back in 1945, though they’d gone quickly into politics. While she rarely read the Prophet, all four were on the Wizengamot with... well, they all held distinct positions of power.
Once upon a time, it had been thought that Hermione would be amongst them; she’d been Head Girl, been part of the Slug Club despite not belonging to the potions master’s house, and was well-regarded amongst all her peers and teachers.
But something was rotten in the Ministry of Magic. So she made it her business to stay out of politics completely.
“Malfoy,” she greeted the sneering blond first. “Lestrange, Nott... Avery. And just where might your handler be?” Her hand was wrapped loosely around her wand, just in case. Hermione didn’t think whatever was about to happen would evolve into an all-out duel, but it was never a bad thing to be prepared.
“I suppose you could say he sent us to do his dirty work,” Lestrange smirked.
The hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck stood up and she gripped her wand tighter. So that was how it was going to end; he hadn’t even come to take care of her himself.
“Dirty work?” she mused. “Surely it’s not time for me to meet an untimely end? Wouldn’t you agree he has too much blood on his hands already?” Avery, still as hotheaded as he had been when they were in school, took an aggressive step toward her with his wand drawn, forcing Hermione to draw hers. “I wouldn’t step much closer, Avery, if I were you.”
“You were never worth your weight in anything when it came to a duel,” Nott mocked. “Malfoy, let’s grab her and get out of here.”
Taking on just Avery, or perhaps Avery and Nott, would have been easy enough for Hermione to handle; she’d been a better duelist than Nott had given her credit, and she’d only gotten better. But with Lestrange and Malfoy also closing in on her, Hermione had limited options. She could attempt to apparate, but there was a risk of one of them grabbing her and splinching her. Or she could give a bit of a fight and then let them take her wherever they were supposed to take her.
Throwing a few offensive spells at them, she gave the appearance of putting up a fight, but was easily stunned and apparated out of the alleyway before anyone could even check on the slight ruckus.
When they reappeared in whatever their destination was, Hermione immediately turned on the four and even managed to disarm Nott before an unusually strong stunning charm hit her square between the shoulder blades. Whatever spell it was, it was modified in some way, as she did not fall flat on her face as she expected, but almost hovered above the ground.
“I would have expected some more competence out of the four of you,” a far-too-familiar voice drawled. “I would have at least expected one of you half-wits to remember to disarm her before disapparating.”
Hermione was turned around suddenly and made a strong effort to look anywhere but at the man who had spoken to the quartet behind her. She busied herself by examining her surroundings, recognizing the room almost immediately. Two happy summers had passed by her in the room, reading and playing games with the boy who had once been her dearest friend.
“Such a shame you can’t look me in the eye,” the man hummed. A firm hand, still calloused from hours and hours of gripping a broomstick, cupped her face and turned her head sharply back.
Hermione looked down for only a moment before finally raising her gaze.
He hadn’t changed much at all since seventh year, when she was forced to share a common room with him. His brows were still strong and well-groomed, and the dark eyes set beneath them still held the slightest mischievous twinkle leftover from childhood. While his nose could have been regal and straight like his father’s, it had been broken one too many times on the Quidditch pitch and he’d never bothered to fix it.
“There she is,” he murmured.
“Hello, Tom,” she greeted solemnly, his name heavy on her tongue.
“Oh, Hermione,” he sighed. “You have no idea how hard it’s been to track you down... and to think that you’ve been hiding under our noses all this time... you truly are the brightest witch of your age. But I think it’s time you come out of hiding, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Not at all,” Hermione replied.
Tom scoffed slightly at her refusal and released her face. He strode over to one of the fine leather armchairs in the library and lounged with a predatory grace that Hermione could only describe as snakelike. It amazed her that anyone truly thought of him as a wonderful and trustworthy politician. But when you turn out to be a member of an ancient house that has an open seat on the Wizengamot... the path to power isn’t too difficult.
“Ah, Hermione, this is where we must disagree,” he told her. “You see, there’s a bit of a problem in Wizarding Britain. It’s a problem most of us are loath to solve due to what it requires of us with... better blood. But it’s a sacrifice we’re willing to make for the strengthening of wizard-kind. After all, Magic is might.”
“Magic is might,” the other men gathered echoed.
“As you know, we’ve begun programs to better integrate witches and wizards from muggle families into our world,” Tom stated. “But their integration is only the first step to better improving the wizarding world. Unfortunately, those of us with older bloodlines must take it upon ourselves to... procreate with your kind.”
Hermione blanched. Surely he wasn’t implying what she thought he was implying?
“No legal action has been taken in this direction yet, but... it’s my belief that someone ought to make an example of how beneficial such a move will be for the wizarding world,” he completed.
“And you plan to use me in order to be that someone,” Hermione surmised.
“You are just as clever as I remember,” Tom praised. “That is exactly what I intend to do, Hermione. Of course, you must excuse the way in which I had to bring you here; I doubted you would come of your own free will, after all.”
“How right you were,” she snorted.
Rising to his feet, Tom circled around Hermione once before he looked to Abraxas.
“Take her away to her room,” he ordered. “Make sure that someone brings her supper, and confiscate her wand. We can’t have her trying to make a getaway.”
With a wave of his hand, Malfoy and Nott were dragging her from the room. Hermione was shoved into one of the many bedrooms of Riddle House with little ceremony, and she raced for the door as soon as she was no longer stunned, only to pound her hands on the door.