Aetis Aliasmodi

Author’s Note: Welcome back! :D Glad to see you all again. Let’s see what sort of trouble that motley crew has gotten itself into, now.

Updated: 3 – 18 – 08

Aetis Aliasmodi
Chapter One: Welcome Back to Hogwarts!


“Give love and unconditional acceptance to those you encounter, and notice what happens.”
- Wayne Dyer


October 3rd, 1970: 6:54 a.m.


She awoke with the awareness that she was clean. There was no vomit covering her person. Her uniform wasn’t stiff with ogre’s blood and mud from the outer yards of Hogwarts. It seemed as though she was nestled in clean, crisp sheets, warm against her body, but when she moved, she could feel that without her heat, they would be cool to the touch. Sighing happily, Hermione smiled faintly. Cleanliness was next to Godliness.

“I see you’re awake, Ms. Greystead.”

The voice startled her, coming from somewhere at her right elbow. Snapping her eyes open, Hermione waited for them to adjust to the brightness of the Infirmary before smiling tightly at the Headmaster. He looked much the same now as he did twenty-five years in the future, except perhaps that his hair had a little more grey and a little less white.

The subtle joking tone he’d taken when he said her “name” triggered her memory of the night before.

“Scourgify,” Hermione commanded, pointing at the double helpings of puke Connor had so thoughtfully given her for Christmas. Immediately, the vomit dissipated into nothing. Connor still had his eyes squeezed shut, and she noted with worry that he hadn’t so much as made a peep since they’d gotten thrown back in time. Harry recovered much more quickly than she did, and was on his feet and embracing the Headmaster.

“Professor!” Harry said into Dumbledore’s shoulder. Hermione’s eyes slid over to the tall, imperious-looking blonde that was Lucius Malfoy, who was watching the proceedings with interested, narrowed eyes.

Forcing a smile on her face, she’d simply said, “Harry,” in a warning tone that let him know that he was pushing his luck. Jolting, Harry drew back from the bemused Headmaster, his green gaze settling on Malfoy before he took a full step back, fidgeting uncomfortably. Connor moaned low in his throat at her feet, and Hermione dropped back to her knees, resting the backs of her knuckles against the boy’s forehead. No warmth. Obviously he was still feeling the effects of the trip.

“Roll on your stomach,” she’d commanded, pushing him to help him along when he tried to comply. Rubbing his back in small circles, she made soothing noises as Harry began to talk to Dumbledore.

Clearing his throat and casting a pointed look at Malfoy, Harry raised his eyebrows at his old, no-longer deceased mentor in question. “Can we talk privately?”

And, of course, Professor Dumbledore had complied.

After moving Connor into the Infirmary, where he promptly fell asleep, Professor Dumbledore took them up to his office, dismissing Malfoy at the gargoyle. The prefect looked supremely peeved at being left in the dark as to the three students’ sudden, bloodied arrival, but he’d merely tightened his jaw, gave a nod, and left. Hermione resisted the urge to send a hex at his back, and knew that her best friend was battling the same inclination.

Dumbledore hadn’t allowed them to fully state their reasons for being in the year 1970, although once he learned how close they were to being born themselves, he allowed them to take on new names. Of course, Harry had ruined Hermione’s chance at forming a new first name with his inability to keep his trap shut. It wasn’t so bad for Harry to go by Harry – it was common enough. But the magical world wasn’t exactly bursting at the seams with Hermiones.

Hermione had taken the last name Greystead, a pureblood name that Dumbledore had assured her had died out. She had felt uncomfortable at taking on a pureblood name, but after she’d made it clear that she was not going to let Connor enter a separate house and might join him in Slytherin, Dumbledore had said it was a safety precaution he would feel a lot better about her taking. Harry had become Harry Pennewick, another dead-and-buried pureblood name. Apparently, Dumbledore didn’t expect the other pureblood families to find out that the names had died off, since the last known documentation of both had been their travel papers out of the country some fifty years ago.

Connor got to keep his last name, since it was common in both the magical and the Muggle world.

Lucky little kid. Hermione was never going to get used to “Greystead.”

“Good morning, Professor,” she said, politely, although she wanted to fawn all over him like Harry had done just the night before. Dumbledore wasn’t stupid; he could probably guess from Harry’s energetic happiness towards him that something bad had happened to him in the future. There was no need to complicate matters and reaffirm what the Headmaster probably suspected. She looked around and saw that Connor was at the window, staring in awe at Hogwarts. Doubtless his last vision of the place had been leagues from the way it was, now.

Harry was still snoozing.

Dumbledore’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, patting her hand. “Are you ready? You’re going to get re-sorted this morning, at breakfast, so we can free up the sick beds again. Madame Bestra doesn’t like slovenly layabouts in her beds, you see,” he added, winking and nodding his head towards her office door.

Hermione felt herself smiling in spite of… well, everything. Dumbledore could have that sort of affect on a person. Besides, they were in the year 1970. Nobody that Hermione had personally known was dead, yet. Strangely, the thought wasn’t at all comforting; she felt Ron’s absence keenly. “I’m ready,” she said, decisively. Hopefully Harry would be, too. He’d balked at the idea of letting himself be sorted into Slytherin after so narrowly avoiding it the first time, but when Hermione had refused to leave Connor alone in there, he’d relented.

She knew what Slytherins were like, and she could only imagine the sorts of abuse Connor would be victim to without protection. No doubt Malfoy would be eager to get his grimy hands on the boy to strangle all the information out that he could.

“Breakfast is in thirty minutes,” the old wizard simply responded, then stood to go. “I brought uniforms for the three of you. Yours were very much outdated.”

She snorted. “Thank you, Professor.”


**


October 3rd, 1970: 7:39 a.m.


Hermione adjusted Connor’s collar, ignoring his attempts to squirm away. She’d told him to ask the hat to put him in Gryffindor, and although he’d told her that he would try, he clearly didn’t believe her assertion that the hat would put him wherever he wanted to go. Probably he still wanted to be in Slytherin – most students that went there did so to appease their parents, or something, right? Although his parents were dead (he didn’t know that, yet), and nowhere around, he would probably still want to prove something to them.

“Give him a break, will you?” Harry finally intervened, looking faintly amused. “He’ll get sorted whether or not you fuss over him.”

Huffing, Hermione gladly stepped into the comforting role that opened up for her: the nag and mother-like figure. It didn’t quite fit her, really, not with Ron gone… but it was comforting to discover that it was still there, waiting for her. If Harry was going to keep from thinking about the battle, then she would, too. “Well, excuse me for trying to make sure he doesn’t look like something that rolled out of a haystack. Speaking of which…” she mumbled, trailing off and staring with a fixed sense of determination at Harry’s unruly mop. Licking the tips of her fingers, she moved them towards her best friend’s head, determined to flatten his cowlick once and for all.

“Hey!” Harry yelped, swerving and narrowly avoiding her ministrations. “You’re my best friend, but that doesn’t mean you get to put your spit on me, Hermione.”

“Oh, really,” she scoffed, folding her arms. “I thought boys grew out of the cootie phase at the age of twelve, or something.”

“The daughter of dentists should be fully aware of how dirty mouths can be,” he shot back, looking smug when she failed to have a blistering retort at ready. Thankfully, she could pretend that she was distracted by Professor Dumbledore announcing Hogwarts’ newest arrivals.

“We have three new students joining us,” he said, from out of sight of the three students. Hermione realized that she hadn’t seen this particular anteroom since her own Sorting as a first-year. It was really rather weird to go about getting Sorted again… especially with the plan to follow Connor into whatever House he landed himself in. “Our first is a first-year. He’s joining us a little late in the school year, but I’m sure his classmates will be more than up to the task of bringing him up to speed.” Nevermind that Connor was easily two months ahead of these students, simply by virtue of having made it to Christmas of his first year. Unless the curriculum had drastically changed over the decades. “O’Mallory, Connor!”

Before letting him go, Hermione leaned down to get to eye level with him. “Remember. Try to get into Gryffindor.”

Connor nodded, but lowered his eyes a fraction instead of maintaining eye contact. Inwardly, Hermione sighed. He was going to get put into Slytherin, and she was going to drag both herself and Harry into the nest of vipers after him. The first-year entered the Great Hall.

Harry sighed loudly. “It’s going to be Slytherin for us, isn’t it.”

“Yep.”

“SLYTHERIN,” the Sorting Hat bellowed. Hermione took one last look at her school clothes to make sure they weren’t bunched up funny or something, and waited to get called out next.


**


Lucius smirked into his goblet of pumpkin juice as the O’Mallory brat got himself into Slytherin. Unbeknownst to the Slytherin Prefect, Hermione had read him perfectly: he was planning on getting Connor alone and plying him for all the secrets the newly-arrived trio offered. He was not buying Dumbledore’s weak suggestion of them being exchange students from America. They had English accents, for Merlin’s sake.

Of course, he’d been an exemplary Slytherin the night before, keeping mostly quiet and observing the details of the scene before him. Although O’Mallory had had a green tie, the two others had clearly been sporting Gryffindor colors – which just made their weird friendship with the first year all the weirder. Still, he’d be able to get all the answers he required that night in the dormitories; with the two sixth-years up in Gryffindor tower, Connor wouldn’t stand a chance.

“You seem happy,” Avery noted, his eyes fixed on Lucius’ face.

Smoothing his expression, the seventh-year shrugged. “The kid looks like a wimp. I think I’ll have fun with him.” That said, he waited until Connor had left the Sorting Hat behind before smiling and waving at the boy. The kid looked both horror-stricken and awed to have caught Lucius’ attention, but, to the first-year’s credit, approached the prefect carefully when Lucius beckoned him over. “Come sit with me,” the blonde offered with a wide, friendly grin, making room for Connor beside him.

The horror melted from the boy’s expression, leaving only awe. First-years didn’t often mix with seventh-years, especially handsome, blonde prefects. Even as a student, Lucius exuded power to the rest of his House, and, to a lesser extent, to the other three Houses. Obviously Connor was unsure whether to be happy for his luck or suspicious of Lucius’ attentions, but finally, the black-haired Irish boy sat across from Narcissa Black, who gave him a mega-watt and utterly perfect smile, causing the kid to look embarrassed and pleased all at once.

Lucius paid only half of his attention to the proceedings before the staff table. He caught the name – Hermione Greystead – but didn’t bother to watch for her to be sorted. He knew where she was going.

Or rather, he thought he did.

Even Lucius couldn’t stop his eyes from widening in shock as the Sorting Hat proclaimed Hermione Greystead to be a “SLYTHERIN.” He calmed his face down immediately, since his friends had no idea that he’d even encountered the battered, bloody trio the night before, but he was sure he wasn’t able to completely school his expression as Ms. Greystead put the hat on the stool and strode surely to Connor, and hence, to Lucius.

Giving Lucius Malfoy a chilling look, Hermione grabbed Connor by the arm, leading him to the far end of the Slytherin table. Looking ashamed at being manhandled but making no protest, Connor gave Lucius and his little posse a sad wave.

The blonde Slytherin ground his teeth, causing the skin in his jaw to tense and flicker for a second, as Harry Pennewick became a Slytherin and joined Greystead and O’Mallory at the end of the Slytherin table. He knew that he had not been hallucinating the flash of gold and red at Greystead and Pennewick’s throats the night before; it had been the key instigator behind his ill-concealed disdain for them. And yet, somehow, they’d tricked the Sorting Hat and gotten themselves into Slytherin… perhaps that was what they’d talked to Dumbledore about the night before. It would be just like the codgy old wizard to order the hat to put students into a particular house, regardless of their weaknesses or strengths.

The other Slytherins around Lucius were bound to have noticed Hermione’s hostile manner towards him, but Lucius remained calm, taking one last sip of his pumpkin juice before setting the goblet down gently. He could not let her attitude go unchecked, of course. He was well-used to reigning supreme in Slytherin House, and he wasn’t going to let two Gryffindor upstarts change that.


**

October 3rd, 1970: 9:13 p.m.


She and Harry had done everything within their power to avoid entering the Slytherin common room while it was bound to be infested by Slytherins. Hermione had allowed herself to lose track of Connor during the school day, but was waiting with her best friend outside of the Slytherin first years’ last class before it ended. She knew she couldn’t avoid Lucius and the Li’l Death Eaters forever, but that didn’t mean she was keen on barging in there while they were plotting dastardly deeds amongst each other. Harry, thankfully, shared her misgivings and was more than happy to allow himself to be led around the grounds and into the library to pass the time.

Connor had seemed a little put out that he wasn’t able to spend more time with his friends, but being in the presence of two Older People seemed to lighten his mood almost immediately. It helped, of course, that he knew the other first-years would be jealous of his close friendship with two sixth-years.

Harry and Hermione, for their part, had allowed Connor to cast them in the role of his missing parents. It was sweet, in a weird way, to have Connor look at them that way, and Hermione felt her own maternal urgings come to the fore with the kid around. Harry, she could already tell, was going to end up being one of those goofy, playful dads, the kind that slipped his kid candy after dinner with a wink and an extracted promise not to tell their mother. Harry was quick to lose his patience with the first-year, but thankfully seemed to be able to hide it from Connor himself. He wasn’t used to dealing with kids, and found Connor’s endless stream of energy and questions to be rather exhausting. Fortunately, Harry wasn’t, by nature, a mean-spirited person, and did the best he could to be nice even when he felt his control beginning to slip.

Hermione seemed to be an indulgent mother, herself, although she obviously held learning and school in high regard. She was constantly offering tidbits of information to Connor whenever he talked about something she knew something about, and although he seemed immediately bored with her long-winded explanations, she learned over the course of the few hours before dinner with him that he would respond enthusiastically to shorter, seemingly-mysterious bits of education, and would even respond in an enthusiastically questioning manner, which Hermione approved of.

They spent their time after dinner in the library, more because they lacked other things to do that late. Harry was teaching Connor how to play paper football while Hermione studied for their classes; it had turned out that the curriculum was slightly different, although she’d been disappointed to realize that much of the material they were covering had been taught to her in fifth year.

Connor yawned wide, and Harry smiled at the first-year’s lack of Slytherin guile.

Or what he perceived to be as such. Hermione rather thought that there was a good reason Connor was put into Slytherin, although she was determined not to let the kid emulate the worst of the common personality traits. Closing her book as Connor looked blearily at the two of them, Hermione stood. “Alright, we should get to bed. Connor,” she added, speaking in low, urgent tones. “Remember what we all talked about, okay? You’re Harry’s cousin. Harry and I have been living in America for the past seven years. You joined Hogwarts late because your parents died in a Muggle car accident and everything got all tangled up while Harry’s parents, your aunt and uncle, adopted you. Then we came to Hogwarts with you so you wouldn’t feel lonely. And,” she added, her voice taking on a very serious tone. “Don’t talk to Lucius Malfoy. Ever. If he tries to talk to you, you come and get me or Harry. Okay?”

There was a flash of mutiny in Connor’s eyes before he nodded. “I remember, Hermione,” he affirmed. Hermione had seen the defiant look that passed over his face, although like a true Slytherin, he’d hidden it immediately. She knew that the stupid boy was drawn to Malfoy; perhaps Draco had been kind to him back in their own time. Not that she was willing to put much stock into that theory.

“If you do talk to Malfoy,” she sighed, cupping his cheeks with either hand and forcing him to look at her. “Do not ever admit that we’re from the future. If he tries to question you about that stuff, just tell him that you don’t know or you can’t say, and to ask me or Harry. Promise?”

“Promise,” Connor mumbled, lowering his gaze in shame that Hermione had seen through his plans so effortlessly.

Hermione smiled warmly at him. “Okay. And Harry will be right there in the boy’s dorm with you, so you can come to him for anything.” Harry looked like he might protest, obviously already imagining the energetic first-year waking him up hours before breakfast or coming to his bedside in the middle of the night complaining that he’d had a nightmare or something, but Hermione sent him a quelling look. Rolling his eyes, Harry nodded at his best friend over Connor’s head.

“Can’t I come see you?” the boy asked, his blue eyes intense with worry.

She shook her head. “Nope. Boys aren’t allowed in the girl dorms. But if you really need me, you can use this…” and, with a flourish that wasn’t at all necessary and not really fitting with Hermione’s character, she produced one of the Galleons she’d enchanted for Dumbledore’s Army. Harry raised his eyebrows at her odd behavior, and she shrugged. It wasn’t often that she got to play Big Sister with an impressionable child, and she liked that Connor was a little in awe of her advanced powers. Selfish, but purely human. “Just tap it with your wand and say ‘Hermione,’ and you’ll feel it get warm. I’ll feel it get warm, too. Then you tap it again and say a place. Like, ‘Common room.’” She demonstrated. The words Common Room appeared across the bottom of the coin, where usually there was an embossing of In Merlin’s Name We Go Forth. “And I’ll know to meet you in whatever place you want. Harry has one, too, so you can say his name instead, if you want,” she added, grudgingly. It was bad enough that Harry got to be in the same dorms as Connor – she didn’t like the idea of them having secret meetings without her.

She wasn’t used to feeling this possessive over another person. Not even Ron had provoked a feeling like this in her. Reminding herself that she was going to be fair, impartial, and not fall into Slytherin ways, Hermione handed Connor the coin, resolved to not give a good God damn whether or not he and Harry had secret meetings with it. She would examine her feelings of jealousy later.

The three of them stood and made for the library doors, Hermione leaning down for a second to add, “And don’t show the Galleon to anyone but me and Harry, either!”


**

October 4th, 1970: 7:21 a.m.


All right. So they’d avoided him all last night, and had only slipped through the common room to head straight to their dormitory. Fine. They couldn’t avoid him forever, and Lucius had already formulated an educated opinion on how the little group worked. Greystead was the ringleader – or, Hermione, rather. Now that they shared a House, there was no need to call any of them by their surname. Hermione was the ringleader. Harry second in command simply by virtue of the fact that Connor couldn’t really wrest that position from him. He still wasn’t sure what Connor had to do with either of them, other than arriving at the same time and puking his guts all over the ex-Gryffindor girl.

Harry and Connor had been long gone since he’d woken up. A first year girl had told him that Hermione was just waking up when he’d made it down to the common room, and since she had to pass through the common room to get outside, he was bound to see her. Lucius forced himself to think charming thoughts. Might as well see if he could get either of the two teenagers to give away their secrets willingly before he tried the first-year. While he thought, there was a flash of movement from the entrance to the girl’s dormitory, and while he blinked, Hermione was already a few feet from the portrait leading outside.

She moved quickly; he’d give her that. “Hermione,” he called, giving himself a mental pat on the back when she turned to face him, her polite smile promptly dying on her face when her eyes landed on him.

Hermione did all she could to keep from scowling. Malfoy. She’d barely been there a day and he was probably already out to demand allegiance from her or homage to his greatness or something similar. He approached her with a friendly smile that didn’t fool her for a bit. Perhaps if she hadn’t known him, it would have; it wouldn’t surprise her to learn that Lucius was popular, if he went around grinning at everyone like that. But she had met with him many times over the years, and had utterly failed to be impressed by his nasty personality and snobby outlook. Not to mention the fact that he was always trying to kill everybody.

She didn’t bother to smile. “What do you want?”

His eyebrows raised a fraction at the animosity in her tone, giving him an innocent look. He finished approaching her, standing at a non-threatening distance of four feet away, close enough to inspect her but not to get her knickers in a twist while he did so.

Hermione was not a beautiful girl. She was not possessed of an other-worldly grace, and didn’t have the finely-wrought bone structure of Narcissa, who was unofficially Lucius’ intended. Narcissa was perfect in many ways, and he’d decided in fifth year that he was going to marry her at some point, make some pretty kids, and she would support him in every way. It helped that they got along, of course. Hermione didn’t have Narcissa’s straight, pert nose, or her perfectly curved lips.

What Hermione had was a strong jawline, a defiant chin. Her nose was more cute than beautiful, delicate and turning up just the slightest bit at the end, with a dash of freckles across the top. She had large eyes and a wide mouth, although her odd proportioning did not make her ugly, just imperfect. Her eyes were brown. Her hair didn’t even bear contemplation, honestly; Lucius was almost willing to let their apparent enmity drop just so he could give her some pointers on keeping the frizz at bay, it was that terrible to look at.

Hermione, for her part, gave Lucius a quick glance over, not bothering to inspect him as thoroughly as he’d done her. He looked like a manlier version of Draco, really, and she’d been looking at Draco just about every day for five and a half years.

“I feel like we’ve gotten off to a bad start,” Lucius started, not faltering when she raised an imperious eyebrow at him. The girl had far too expressive a face to truly belong to Slytherin. He wondered if she was aware that she was broadcasting her every inner thought like that.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at his lame attempt at camaraderie. Bad start was one way of putting it. Is that what you called it when the father of your schoolmate was hellbent on assisting a dark wizard in annihilating you, people like you, your parents, and everyone like your parents? Was it a bad start if the first time you met said father, he gave your friend a book that possessed her and nearly got her killed? Was it a bad start, she wondered, if this one person made a habit of trying to kill you about once a year for the last four or five years? “I agree,” she said, since he was obviously expecting a reply.

He smiled to reward her for partaking in the conversation. “Well, why don’t we start over? I’m Lucius, Slytherin Prefect.”

“I’m Hermione, late for breakfast,” she returned glibly.

His smile tightened at the corners. “I’m attempting to be polite. Lenient, if you will, considering your attitude towards me. I’m offering a chance for us to become friends.” Unspoken was the warning that Lucius Malfoy would make a very bad enemy.

Hermione snorted, an unladylike gesture that completely surprised the prefect. Rolling her eyes, she opened the portrait door. “Take your chance and stuff it, Malfoy. I can do better than you if we’re talking friends.” She began to open the portrait more fully, intending to step through, when it suddenly slammed shut. Lucius leaned easily against the portrait, his posture relaxed but no longer openly friendly. Crossing his arms easily, he regarded her silently for a few moments. She tried not to fidget.

“You’re not very friendly,” he observed, in an offhand, almost idle tone. “Have I done anything in particular to deserve this aggression?”

What an interesting question, she thought sarcastically. Knowing full well that she couldn’t list all his past wrongs against her, since they hadn’t, technically, actually occurred yet, she settled herself with a completely unsatisfactory but workable answer. “Let’s just say that I know a pompous brat when I see one, Malfoy.” Cutting him off from what was undoubtedly a witty riposte, she crossed her own arms, more so she could grab her wand without him noticing than out of feelings of anger or resentment. “Have I done anything in particular to deserve this completely unwelcome bid for my good opinion?”

His eyes were half-lidded, an expression that made him look supremely annoyed. “Just because I’m social doesn’t mean I hold your opinion in high regard, Hermione. I highly advise you to keep my offer in mind. This year can be pleasant, or it can be extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps you’d better think in terms of your best interests before shooting my peace offering to the floor.”

“If you’re worried that I’ll try and seize the pitiable little schoolyard throne you’ve built up for yourself, then I wouldn’t fret, Malfoy.” She put her hand on the portrait door, smiling nastily when Lucius finally stood and allowed her to leave. “Oh, and don’t frown – you’ll form wrinkles.”

With that, she disappeared, the final fluff of hair being the last to exit the actual room. Lucius looked at the portrait impassively, although on the inside he was heavily irritated. Finally, he threw a glance over his shoulder, waving his wand at the corner and watching another Slytherin first-year appear from behind the camouflage spell he’d put on him.

“Well, Severus?” he asked the first-year, watching the black-haired boy try and shake the icky feeling of the spell. “What did you notice?”

“She keeps her wand on her left side, near her, um, chest,” Severus Snape managed, his black eyes skittering around as he said the last word of the sentence. Then he continued on. If Lucius liked his report, then Severus might be able to gain a spot in the prefect’s circle – an enviable position for any first-year. “She’s really emotional, isn’t she? She doesn’t seem very Slytherin. Unless the emotions are just a ploy. I wonder why she hates you, since she just met you? Maybe she knows you from somewhere…” Severus trailed off, noting that Lucius was no longer actively listening to him.

The blonde waved the first-year away, and Severus slipped out of the portrait hole. The first-year had offered nothing that Lucius wasn’t able to see for himself. He’d have to work on Severus’ skills in observation. He’d already told Severus to keep an eye on Connor throughout their classes, so hopefully he’d be able to notice something out of the ordinary within a few days. Perhaps a reason behind the three’s odd relationship: sixth-years didn’t make a habit of hanging out with first-years.

Finally, he sighed and exited the common room. It seemed that Hermione was not going to bend, so he was going to have to try something – or rather, someone – else.

Perhaps Harry would be more amenable.


**

October 7th, 1970: 12:48 p.m.


Harry was avoiding Lucius like the blonde carried the plague. There was definitely something off about the two Gryffindor-turned-Slytherins. They had no plausible reason for disliking Lucius, as he hadn’t been openly rude during their first night in Hogwarts, and he didn’t know any of them prior to that moment. Giving up on being able to ascertain the reason using any of them personally, he’d finally owled home, asking his parents what they knew about the Greysteads and Pennewicks. Nothing. There was no long-standing hatred between either of them and the Malfoy name, although apparently Harry and Hermione were the first of the family to return to Britain in about two generations.

There was no reason for them to so openly dislike Lucius. He’d set Severus on Connor, and then Narcissa on Harry and Hermione, since they were in the same year. Severus told Lucius that neither Harry nor Hermione left Connor alone outside of classes, and that although Connor seemed to enjoy their company, he was beginning to resent the fact that they kept him away from his first-year friends.

Narcissa had merely noted that Harry had all but run screaming from her when she tried to talk with him. Hermione had been polite, but distant, and had shut down any attempt of conversation that the youngest Black sister had made, but she felt that she’d be able to at least hold a stilted conversation with the bushy-haired girl before long. Although Harry and Hermione were best friends, it would only be a matter of time before they sought companionship elsewhere besides with each other.

I guess it’s time to play the waiting game, Lucius thought as he entered his room. He felt a little impatient, but knew that waiting might yield the results he desired.

One of them would crack before long.


**

October 13th, 1970: 3:12 p.m.


Hermione wasn’t sure what to think of Narcissa Black. Certainly she’d been cold in the future, but Hermione hadn’t ever spoken to Mrs. Malfoy personally, and the girl was almost disconcertingly friendly. Harry could barely stand to be within five feet of the beautiful blonde, but despite Hermione’s suspicions that Narcissa was one of Lucius’ puppets, she found herself wearing down when it came to resisting the girl’s charm.

“Hi, Hermione,” Narcissa piped up from just beyond the brunette’s shoulder. Hermione startled, wondering how it was that Narcissa seemed to show up precisely when Hermione was thinking of her.

Beside her, Harry grimaced.

“Hello, Narcissa,” Hermione replied politely, although without the same arctic chill her voice had carried the first time Narcissa had tried to speak with her. Having the girl say “hi” to you on a daily basis tended to dilute your hatred of her. “How are you, today?” Harry cast her a disbelieving look at the question; although Hermione had reluctantly entered into polite conversation with the blonde sixth-year, she’d never instigated it.

Narcissa smiled warmly at Hermione’s question. It hadn’t escaped her that this was the first time Hermione had made any effort at keeping Narcissa around, and although she knew Lucius didn’t like the frizzy-haired witch, Narcissa thought that she might rather like Hermione, when it all came down to it. Although cold, Hermione had deftly fielded all attempts at conversation between herself and other Slytherins, especially concerning the trio’s odd arrival. Besides that, she was constantly cutting Harry off when it seemed as though the wizard would say something stupid, but she did so in a way that didn’t raise suspicion. Narcissa thought that if she knew Hermione better, she might actually enjoy being friends with her. “I’m fantastic! Although I’m not looking forward to this essay for Potions. Potions has got to be the most singly boring class the entire school can offer,” she sighed, wrinkling her nose delicately.

She saw Harry look over at her, and stopped a smile from blossoming on her face. Either Harry hated Potions or loved it, to have bothered glancing at her for saying that. Still, the Pennewick boy said nothing.

“I kind of like Potions,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. Harry tossed Hermione an exasperated glare, which Narcissa took and filed away in her mental catalogue of the two. Now she knew that Harry most emphatically did not like Potions, and, beyond that, this was a conversation that Hermione and Harry had had before. Given the ire in the boy’s gaze, she was willing to bet that it was an argument they’d been having for a very long time. Did that mean they taught Potions in America? Hermione continued, dispelling Narcissa’s thoughts. “It requires a certain amount of finesse, which I can appreciate.”

“You are the only witch I know who would willingly spend her time hovering over a smoking, smelling cauldron,” Harry finally spoke, obviously unable to contain himself even if Narcissa was there. “I wouldn’t even call it finesse. I’d call it ‘nitpicky.’ Anything that will blow up if you don’t chop frogs legs in perfect ninety-degree angles is a waste of a life’s calling.”

Narcissa threw in her two cents, sending Hermione an apologetic look before grinning at Harry. “Sorry, Hermione, but I must agree with that assessment. Potions is so anal-retentive, isn’t it?” she asked, directing the question more at Harry. Harry, however, seemed to realize his mistake and had fallen silent once more, drawing in on himself. Darn.

Hermione didn’t appear to have noticed, and immediately came to the aid of all Potions, everywhere. “Oh, really. Just because you don’t know how to chop anything properly is no reason to hate the subject,” she sniffed, her face showing the most animation that Narcissa had ever seen while in the girl’s presence. It was a rather interesting transformation for the statuesque blonde to witness. One second, Hermione was coldly indifferent to the world around her, and the next, she was blazing with temperamental annoyance. Narcissa had the feeling that she was viewing the “real” Hermione. Harry, for his part, just rolled his eyes.

“Just because you like everything doesn’t mean everything is completely lacking in downsides!” Harry grumbled, giving Narcissa an uncomfortable glance as he spoke.

Oh, yes, she was definitely making progress. Narcissa wondered if she could get away with patting Hermione’s shoulder, but decided that it was too soon. She didn’t want to frighten the two off. “Well, all the better that we let the people who love it devote their lives to it, but I don’t see why they have to teach it to everyone,” Narcissa half-sighed, half-whined. Although she was, in truth, trying to get them to engage in conversation, she really did hate Potions with a fiery passion. She had simply never been good at it.

“Exactly,” Harry added, looking smug.

Hermione threw her arms in the air to silently broadcast her exasperation. So, it was back to this, was it! Hermione being the know-it-all bookworm and two others ganging up on her simply because she liked learning. The thought suddenly twinged uncomfortably, causing Hermione to frown. Narcissa was nice, but she was not Ron, and couldn’t take Ron’s place in any fashion. Hermione still hadn’t cried over the loss of Ron and the others. She wondered when the tears would finally hit her; she was sort of enjoying the return to routine. Stowing the gloomy thoughts away, she turned down the corridor towards Connor’s last class. “Oh, fine! This role of ‘Potions Protector’ you keep forcing me into is getting old and it’s starting to chafe something fierce. We are not discussing the pitfalls of Potions anymore!”

Harry turned to Narcissa fully for the first time, too triumphant to care that she was the enemy. A broad grin spread over his features, surprising the blonde. He had an infectious smile, it would appear; an answering smile had appeared on Narcissa’s lips before she was aware of what her mouth was doing. “She knows she lost,” Harry said in a mock-confidential tone. Hermione squawked and turned, smacking him on the arm. He took the hit with another broad, knowing smile, but this time, when his eyes made contact with Narcissa’s, the smile seemed to fade, and he turned his attention to the wall again.

Narcissa knew she was wearing Harry down, though, so she decided not to take the unspoken insult too seriously.

Suddenly, Harry and Hermione stopped in front of one of the doors. Narcissa took a few steps beyond them, and then turned, glancing at them quizzically. She knew that they were of the habit of waiting for Connor’s last class to end, of course, but they didn’t know that she knew. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for Connor,” Hermione answered, leaning against the wall near the door.

Narcissa gave them an odd look. “You wait for the first-year classes to be over? Why?”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “Well… we don’t like to leave him alone. He lost his parents recently.” It was true. But Hermione felt a bit bad for lying by omission – but then she berated herself. She was absolutely, positively allowed to lie to Narcissa Black/Malfoy, no matter how weirdly nice she was being. Besides, she couldn’t very well tell Narcissa “Oh, I just don’t want your evil, conniving boyfriend to catch him alone and torture him ruthlessly for information” because she was pretty sure that that was going to be a one-way ticket to hell.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Narcissa said, softly. She seemed to think for a second before adding, “But don’t you think he might want to hang around with friends his age?”

“Harry and I can keep him entertained,” Hermione responded, stiffly.

“I’m not contesting that. Just… kids just want to be kids sometimes, don’t’ you think? I think it’d be hard to really be a kid around sixth-years, if it were me. I’d be falling all over myself to make sure the sixth-years were impressed with me, proud of me, and still thought I was a good friend and everything.” The blonde shrugged, not looking as though she honestly cared, much. “That’s just what I think.”

“Thank you for your opinion,” Hermione said, her tone cold and brooking no further discussion.

Looking sheepish, Harry made another attempt to join into the conversation. He looked very much like he didn’t want to be in Hermione’s line of fire, but he steeled himself for the upcoming blow and spoke in a soft, gentle voice. “She’s got a point, Hermione. Connor can’t really be himself around us. You’re always pushing him to learn out of class, and I’m getting close to the point of just telling him to shut up every once in a while, you know?” At Hermione’s anxious look, Harry rushed to reassure her. Narcissa thought that they were oddly friendly towards each other for Slytherins. “I know you’re worried that he’ll be… bullied,” he finished lamely, shooting Narcissa a covert glance that she pretended not to notice. Whatever Harry had originally meant to say, it hadn’t been “bullied.” But Hermione seemed to understand what he was trying to convey. “But we can’t watch him all the time. He knows how to contact us if there’s trouble, and he’s got to develop a thick skin sooner or later.”

“It’s not fair expecting him to grow that thick of a skin, Harry,” Hermione argued, although Narcissa could tell from her defeated tone that she secretly agreed with her best friend.

Harry gave her an adorably lopsided smile, resting his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll just have to trust everybody else not to hurt him too much. Every parent goes through this pain sooner or later. And yeah, I know you’re not his real mum, but it’s not for lack of trying at this point.” Hermione laughed, looking a little embarrassed.

Narcissa felt somewhat like an interloper on a tender moment. She was quite sure that the two of them were not romantically linked, but they acted as if they were very close. Much closer than she could say she was to her own friends… but then, Slytherin wasn’t so much about making friends as making allegiances and helpful allies. She was beginning to think that they had been put into the wrong House or something.

Just then, the first-years came piling out of the classroom. Connor seemed torn between delight and despair when he caught sight of his two guardians. Severus trailed along behind him, watching him carefully. Narcissa noted this with well-hidden surprise; she hadn’t realized that Lucius had assigned any of the first-years to one of his little projects.

Hermione knelt down in front of Connor, giving Harry an uncertain look. “Connor… do you, perhaps, want to hang out with the other first-years today?”

Again, many emotions crossed the boy’s face at once before he stowed them away. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, seeming immensely relieved when Hermione smiled and shook her head. He looked undecided for a moment, but glanced over and saw Severus hovering nearby, and shared a smile with the other first-year before looking back at Hermione. “I want to play with Severus. He and some of the other first years are going to try and lure the giant squid to the surface of the lake! Can I go?”

Narcissa watched an interesting array of emotions cross the sixth-years’ faces when Connor mentioned Severus’ name. Harry stared longer at Severus than Hermione did, not being as well-versed in subtlety as his friend, and the blonde watched with amusement as Harry’s mouth fell open for a second before he snapped it shut.

“Sure, okay,” Hermione said, looking fretful. “Just be careful. You know how to reach us, right?”

“Yeah! I just pull out my gal—“

“Right, right,” Hermione cut in, raising her eyebrows in silent warning at Connor. The boy immediately stopped speaking, as if just remembering that they had company. “Okay. We’ll see you at dinner, then.” She stood, looking a little lost as Connor began to move past her with Severus. Harry stopped Connor, leaning down and whispering something in his ear with a grin and a wink. Narcissa didn’t catch it, but she watched Hermione whirl on Harry and smack his shoulder again. “Harry! Don’t give him pointers!”

Raising his hands in a “Hey, I’m innocent!” gesture, Harry gave his best impression of a poker face. Scowling, the bushy-haired girl watched Connor disappear down the corridor with Severus.

“Severus, huh?” she asked, suddenly, smiling impishly.

“Yeah, all right, it’s all very amusing,” Harry said, crossly. Narcissa raised her eyebrows in silent question at their inside joke, wanting to know why it was so funny but knowing that this probably wasn’t the right time to ask.

The blonde cleared her throat daintily, smiling in a friendly manner at the two of them as they turned towards her. “Am I correct in believing that you two don’t have plans until dinner?” Something close to panic crossed over Harry’s face, and Narcissa had to try very hard not to laugh. “Nothing sordid, Harry! But the other people in our class haven’t seen much of either of you outside of class, and I think they’re beginning to spread rumors. Some of them are getting patently ridiculous. And nothing dispels nasty rumors like being exposed to the truth, right?”

Hermione was beginning to think that Narcissa had orchestrated the whole guilt trip about Connor just so she could be the lucky one to pull Hermione and Harry into the Slytherin posse. Still, it would be nice to talk to people again, and people from the other houses would think she was up to something if she asked to go hang out.

Seeing the thoughtful look on his friend’s face, Harry poked her arm. “You can’t be serious.”

“Well, there’s always the library—“

“Hey! Let’s get going!” Harry said to Narcissa with an overabundance of fake enthusiasm.

Hermione rolled her eyes behind Harry’s back and she and Narcissa shared a smile. They were a disconcerting pair, not acting like… well, like Slytherins. But Narcissa wasn’t sure that she disliked it. It was kind of nice to be around people that were so lively. It made her miss her sisters.


**

October 13th, 1970: 3:42 p.m.


“You’re a genius. A miracle-worker,” Lucius told her, his eyes fixed on the sight of Hermione and Harry socializing with a handful of other Slytherins. Lucius and Narcissa were sharing a couch on the far side of the common room so that they could talk in private. Both of the sixth-years looked slightly uncomfortable, as though they felt out of their element, but they were smiling and laughing with their classmates enough that Lucius was sure they would be returning.

Narcissa preened exaggeratedly at his compliment. “Oh, I know it. Give me a week, and I can pull anyone in. I’m just that magnetic.”

The prefect favored her with a warm smile. Narcissa wondered at her lack of answering heat. Sure, Lucius and she got along, and she knew that he intended to marry her one day, but she didn’t feel passionate towards him, and she was sure he didn’t feel passionate towards her. Theirs would be a marriage based on friendship, a partnership. They had the same ideals, the same tastes. After he graduated, Lucius would become one of Lord Voldemort’s Death Eaters, and she would support their endeavors while appearing perfect.

Lucius was handsome. But she didn’t love him in that way. She felt like she should. They were well-matched to each other, physically, after all.

“Okay. I give up. How did you do it?” Lucius’ voice cut into her thoughts, and Narcissa glanced up at him before smiling coyly and taking a sip from her goblet of water.

“If I tell you my secrets, then you won’t need me anymore. And I can’t stand being useless, darling,” she said, batting her eyelashes in mock flirtation.

He laughed. “Fine, I’ll just assume they’re under Imperius, then.”

“Aren’t you going to try and talk to them?”

He surprised her by shaking his head. His eyes were calculating, although he was still smiling happily at the latest turn of events. “No. I’ll let them get comfortable with the others, first. They seem to hate me, and I’d hate to be the one that chased them away.” Lucius’ eyes drifted to her goblet. Smiling cheekily, she offered it to him, and he accepted it and sipped, his eyes not leaving the dynamic duo.


End Note: Fast update, huh? >D Because I love you all thisssss much. *spreads arms wide*