Daughter of Leda

The next morning came soon enough and Hermione found Remus to be very much a man of his word. She was up and ready before seven, and found him already dressed and downstairs having coffee. His clothing was, if possible, even more subdued than usual. He had managed to master the art of looking so average that he would never be noticed in a crowd.

It was a good skill to have, and Hermione managed it quite decently if she did say so herself. She had transfigured dark grey robes and an earthy sage green cloak to go over it. At first she’d thought to wear all black, but quickly realized just how well true black stood out. She knew Remus would be working out a suitable glamour for both of them, but had still smoothed her hair back into a sleek ponytail and added a touch of makeup that would make even her friends do a double take before recognizing her. She grinned in amusement when she saw Remus raise his eyebrow at the sight of her and offer a slight nod of approval.

They gave their excuses to the others, citing extra lessons Remus was giving Hermione in some completely random and uninteresting area of magical history. She found it ironic and very nearly insulting how easily everyone accepted the excuse. Come to think of it, she could be going out in a mini skirt and stripper heels and they’d probably never doubt her studious nature.

Hermione quickly devoured every sight to be had the moment they entered Knockturn Alley. As terrible as she knew it would sound if she ever needed to explain it, she found the danger of the place exciting, and the idea of forbidden or dark knowledge wasn’t unappealing. She followed Remus’ directions to the letter. She stayed glued to his side, and kept her expression nearly blank. He had done a good job with the glamour, proclaiming that it would take someone very near in love with her to ever see through it, but even so he had instructed her on behavior.

It didn’t take long to come to one of the small, dark shops that Remus deemed the best place to start her search. As Hermione glanced over their selection two things happened at once. First of all, she became very excited by titles she’d never had the opportunity to read before. Second, she became very grateful she’d thought to bring plenty of galleons for her purchases. Remus offered to carry any of her selections while she continued to look, and seemed to slightly regret the suggestion when he began carrying around a quickly growing stack of books. Some were books where she hoped to find answers about Leda and the questions connected to her, and some were simply topics she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to study.

By the time she was done and the shopkeeper was calculating everything she had chosen The Limitations of Divination, which Remus told her might include more on Leda’s strangely powerful ability, A History of Dark Foresight, which he had not suggested but Hermione felt drawn to, Advancing In Nonverbal and Wandless Magic, another rather heavy text entitled Rosier’s Spell Creation Techniques and Theory, her very own copy of Moste Potente Potions, and about fifteen other books of varying subject matter. Remus seemed to be in physical pain when he heard the amount of three hundred seventy-six galleons and nine sickles. Hermione, however, knew herself to have plenty to spare and felt the books well worth the cost, so silently enlarged her money pouch and used magic to count out the money.

He said nothing as he watched her magically shrink her purchases and slip them in her pocket, but when Hermione turned to him and asked “Where to next?” he just shook his head and walked out. When they were out on the street she noticed they were heading back towards Diagon Alley and apparently going home, but said nothing of it. She’d gotten enough reading material to last her a couple of weeks, after all.

“Almost four hundred galleons and you don’t even blink,” Remus said finally. “Is there something you aren’t telling us?”

Hermione tried not to grin, though she knew she was failing miserably. “Leda may have left me a Gringott’s account with a little money to help me out.”

“More than a little, I’d wager,” he said softly, though left the subject alone.



Once back at 12 Grimmauld Place, Hermione decided a little more field research was needed before she launched straight into the texts. That in mind, she found a phone and called her mother.

“Hello?” came her mother’s voice from the other end of the line. It soothed nerves Hermione hadn’t known were bothering her.

“Hi mum. I’ve missed you.”

“Hermione?” her mother said, voice concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, perfect,” said Hermione quickly. “I just wondered if you knew more about how we are related to Leda...for my research. What was your mother’s maiden name? And your grandmothers?”

Her mother’s tone instantly seemed more at ease. “Ah... yes, I can tell you that, although I never knew my grandmother and my mother spoke little of her childhood. My mother was born Themis Black, and my father was Thomas Roberts. Her mother was Calliope Atreus, who married... uh... oh yes, Phoenix Black. I always thought it was a strange name, but that’s what mum told me.”

“Black?” asked Hermione, interested. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure, my dear. And of course, Calliope’s mother was Leda. Although I can’t say as I remember hearing who her father was. That’s more or less all I know.”

“It’s great, mum. Thanks. I bought some books today that I’m hoping to find information in, but I was afraid that I’d miss things if I didn’t know all the necessary names.”

She quickly said her goodbyes and double checked to make sure she’d written everything down. Black? Surely not. Could I have some blood relation to the ‘Noble House of Black’? It was all a great deal to consider, and it seemed that as soon as she absorbed some new piece of material there were five more facts thrown in her path. Leda, the dark diviner. Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort. And now Phoenix, of the House of Black. Between unknown relations and attraction to one of her enemies, she was quickly discovering ties to what seemed like half the wizarding world. Was that the point, though? Did these connections hint at Leda’s true motives? She wasn’t sure, but intended to find out.



Over the next couple weeks, Hermione devoured every book she had bought and even made a couple more trips for additional material. She had come no closer to her answers, but had found a great many more questions. The time came, though, for her to depart with Harry and Ron. She packed a great many books to take with her, as well as what seemed like everything but the kitchen sink. Between a charmed back and shrinking spells, Hermione was rather pleased with how much she managed to take. After all, it was better to be prepared than to need something and not have it.

Being all alone with the boys could have been worse, but it also could have been a lot better. There were times she thought they were doing alright, and then they would do something to convince her of how truly helpless they would be without guidance. Honestly, does it take that large of a brain to erect a tent or place protective spells on a campsite? She supposed it must, if they were any indication.

There were so many close calls. So many near captures, desperate escapes. Hermione had known their luck could only hold out for so long, but she had hoped it would just be a little longer. One minute everything was fine, the next Fenrir Greyback had caught her, and the next she was waking up in a large, dark room.

She heard the sound of light feet walking heavily across the floor, circling her. She heard cackling laughter that told of the insanity within. As her eyes adjusted, and the flame of the fireplace became enough to see by, Hermione recognized the horrifying figure of Bellatrix Lestrange. “Is the little Mudblood frightened?” Bellatrix asked playfully, her eyes dancing and her body held in an almost animal manner.

“Frightened?” returned Hermione, her voice seething with contempt. “Of you? Surely you must be joking. Tell me, Bellatrix, how it was that you became a Death Eater? Was it the money you brought to the cause, or your animal-like urge to spread your legs?”

It was playing with fire, Hermione knew. But then, she had developed a taste for that, however ill advised it might be. Bellatrix’s eyes widened in rage, and she screamed “CRUCIO!”

As Hermione’s world melted into overwhelming sensation of pain and she felt her body contort in unhuman manners, she saw the figure of Lucius Malfoy turn and walk from the room. His face was devoid of emotion, his manner unconcerned. Could this truly be the same man who she had given herself to not so very long ago? The pain of the Cruciatus became unimportant as Hermione felt her heart shatter into pieces.