Chapter Text
You’re wasting time. The voice, his voice, slithers inside Hermione Granger’s skull as she moved through the castle kitchen, depositing the elegant silver plates into the wash basin. Later, looking back, she would be able to pinpoint this as the day that everything changed, the beginning of all the wonderful, horrible things that were to follow. But in the moment, it was a day like any other. She had woken with the sun, dressed in the simple spun dress all the maids in the royal palace wore, and had set to work. She was cleaning the remnants of the grand breakfast the Potters had enjoyed when he started to get impatient. She felt the icy tendrils of dread leach through her veins. He had been getting increasingly demanding lately, less and less likely to leave her in peace.
Some of us need to eat. She thought, scrubbing at a stubborn bit of dried egg. That requires coin, and coin requires work.
You should be practicing. He said petulantly. If you were to actually listen to me, you wouldn’t require any of this. His face flashed in her mind for a moment, handsome features twisted in frustration. A chill shudders down her spine. This had been his refrain over the past few months, trying to beguile her with promises of power, great and terrible. Power that she could use to take things.
She didn’t respond. He, Tom, had been her constant companion for years, since she was a small child who had stumbled upon something strange in the orphanage she had been sent to after her parents had met an early end. There had been a room in that desolate place, one that waited empty even when the children had been sharing beds out of a lack of space. The cruel matrons, who at the time seemed to wield such power that it was unimaginable to Hermione that they could possibly be scared of anything, gave the room a wide berth, though none ever spoke of it. She had snuck into the room one night on a dare by a particularly brutish older boy and felt something pull her to back corner. Something seemed to ooze out the floor, and hidden under the rotting boards had been a ring, stone black as ink. She had only touched it before she collapsed in pain, her screams bringing the Matron Umbridge running from her bed. Hermione had been punished severely, beaten and confined to the airless attic room for weeks and then given the worst chores the place had to offer, but she had woken up with a voice in her friend, a clever boy named Tom who had become her first real friend. She had borne the punishments gladly, because finally there was someone who understood her, someone who cared.
It had been years before she had come to realize that perhaps, Tom had been the real punishment - but she immediately banished the thought, feeling a tinge of betrayal mixed with hope that he had been too caught up in his own thoughts to have noticed it.
You’re being childish. He sniped now. You can’t just ignore me, Hermione. She knew he was right, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t try. You don’t have time to spend cleaning up after spoiled brats, doing work that is beneath you. Your progress is slow as it is. Something twists in her. She had always taken pride in her intelligence, and Tom had been so nice at the beginning, so full of praise and kindness as he “tutored” her. Lately it seemed that nothing she did was good enough, his disappointment beating against her spine like a heavy, black heart.
I cannot just run off in the woods and study, as pleasant as that sounds. And it did sound pleasant - Hermione dreamed of a quiet cottage, deep in the woods, where she could spend her time reading and writing, discovering the wild world through books. But Tom’s teaching had become harsh and exacting, and whenever she accomplished something new, she felt a hunger in him that scared her.
If you were willing-
But I’m not. Her thoughts are harsh, angry. And I never will be.
“What did that poor fork ever do to you, Granger?” Gideon Prewett’s teasing voice broke through her silent fight, and she realized that she had been scrubbing the same piece of silverware for some time now. The red head grinned at her, leaned against the wide counter where the cook prepared the meals.
“You’re a knight now, Gid.” She chided gently, ignoring Tom’s furious huffing. “What are you doing in the kitchens?”
“We lowly knights don’t get breakfast served at our leisure. I’ve come to put my awesome skills to use and hunt down my own meal.”
“Cajole me into making it for you, more like.”
“Persuasion is as much a skill as any other, isn’t it?” He winked at her, and she felt something tender blossom in her chest. Gideon and his twin brother Fabian had her first friends in the castle, despite their higher rank and close relationship with the royal family. They were kind and open men, and their gentle teasing and wild intelligence - most often put to use creating chaos that, unfortunately, she more often than not ended up having to clean up - were some of the few things that brought some levity into what she was starting to think of as an increasingly bleak existence.
Bleak, because Tom was always there, leeching poisonous thoughts in the back of her head.
“Come on, Mione. We’re training with James today for the big tourney - you wouldn’t want me pass out from starvation and lose my position after all that work you did to help me, would you? Really, I’m doing you a favor by ensuring you get to keep taking pride in all your hard work.” She laughed and flicked dirty dishwater at him, ignoring Tom and his angry grumbling. Her friendship with the Prewetts and the hours she has spent helping them prepare for the knighthood, studying strategy and the old legends had been a cause of great anger for him. He never did like when she paid attention to others, and the enraged hatred he had for the twins had been one of the major fractures in their relationship.
“I assume Fabian is also in need of sustenance?”
“Indeed he is, too shamefaced to come asking though. Can’t imagine why.”
“Well at least one of you have some sense of decency.”
They wouldn’t know decency if it set them on fire. There was a thrill of pleasure in the thought, the image of burning flesh exciting to him. Hermione felt her stomach turn.
“I’ll put something together for you both as soon as I’m done with this.” Gideon crowed in triumph and swooped to kiss her on the cheek. Tom lashed out in rage, and a lancing pain shot through her head, making her flinch back violently.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Gideon frowned, jumping back.
“I’m good, Gid. Just a twinge.” The twins were boisterous and tended towards physical affection, and she had had to lie through her teeth to explain why she so often flinched away whenever they touched her - side effects from a childhood malady, she had said, making her sensitive to sudden touch. Just a bit of pain, nothing to be concerned with, it was worth it ten times over to be close to someone. She patted him on the arm to make her point as she felt Tom recede in her mind. This is something he could do - cause her pain, even blinding pain - but it seemed to take something out of him, and he was always quiet for some time after.
“Still, I-”
“Really, I don’t mind it.” She huffed at the pile of dishes still waiting. “You could lend a hand, if you feel the need to make it up to me. Honestly, there are only four of them, I don’t see why they need so many dishes for a breakfast.”
“Don’t you know? The Malfoys arrived this morning for the tourney, they took breakfast together. And the Blacks should be arriving some time later today.” They shared a look of distaste as Gideon shrugged out of his jacket and took his place next to her. The Malfoys and the Blacks were both vassals of the Royal House of Potter, managing their chunks of the kingdom. Although the Potters were overall kind and just, their control over their vassals were not absolute and both House Black and House Malfoy were known for their harsh rule.
“I for one am glad that my lowly position keeps me from the pleasure of their company. My condolences.” She bumped his shoulder playfully. “I’m sure you’ll have a grand time with them in the training grounds.”
“Oh but I will, particularly when I unseat that prat in the tourney. We have plans, Mione. I think Lucius had more than earned a thorough trashing.” He grinned wolfishly, but Hermione couldn’t help but feel a touch of anxiety in her gut.
“Be careful, will you? I don’t think he’ll take kindly to embarrassment."
"We're always careful.” He winked, but then turned somber. “You’re the one who needs to be careful.” Hermione held his gaze for a moment before nodding. Gideon did not know about Tom, no one did, but he was privy her other secret - and that was just as likely to end with her in the hangsman’s noose, if it were to be discovered by the wrong people.
“Of course. Besides, it’s not like the great Lucius Malfoy would pay enough attention to a scullery maid to notice anything.” She smiled reassuringly, but Gideon just pursed his lips. “Now what exactly do you have planned?”
It wasn’t until early afternoon that Hermione reluctantly headed out to the woods surrounding the castle. Her body ached with the hum of a day spent in physical labor, and she was expected back in a few short hours to help with the dinner preparations, so she was not exactly looking forward to spending her these valuable hours of repose exerting herself in other ways, but she did so anyway.
Tom? She ventured once she was deep enough into the foliage to feel hidden.
So you’ve finally found some time for me.
I have to work, Tom. You know that. He hummed in a way that made it quite clear that no, she did not, and he did not, but didn’t say anything - an olive branch to her olive branch. She twisted her mane of wild hair into a bun and settled down in the brush, waiting for him to speak.
Calm your mind. His voice slid through her, dark and smooth. She closed her eyes and let out a breath, reaching for the stillness. It came as it always did, a hum buzzing under her skin, glorious and warm.
Magic.
Practicing The Arts had been outlawed under penalty of death decades ago, when a war between two wizard kings had laid the land to waste. Certain practices persisted, of course - the offering made at the hearth, the chant said for a bountiful harvest - but these were not, she had learned, real magic. Magic was mighty and wild, but one could bend it to one’s will with the proper training. But all the books had been burned, all the witches and wizards driven out or hanged, and there was no easy way in which one could learn how to do so, even if you were willing to risk the hangman.
Tom, however, knew. And he had been teaching her for years, slowly but surely, and though Hermione feared the consequences, she couldn’t imagine never feeling this again. When she opened herself to the magic, it felt like something clicking into place, like coming home after a long day away, or slipping into a warm bath after being out in the cold.
Just like we talked about. Tom said now, and she opened her eyes and picked up a stone from the forest floor. Visualize it, and it will come. It’s about wanting it enough. She stared at the stone in her hand, replacing it with a cricket in her minds eye - moving, buzzing, breathing. Something moved in her, flowed through her finger and then there it was, a perfect insect, hopping in the palm of her head.
Good girl. Tom purred in her mind, and she felt a bolt of pleasure shoot down her spine. I knew you could do it.
I think I can do more. She started looking for a larger rock, something that felt right, as Tom hummed in approval. It felt like a warm blanket.
Her relationship with Tom was, to say the least, complicated. He had been all she had as a child, and he had been gentle with her, free with praise and affection. But as she grew older, as he came to expect more from her and she came to take interest in things other than the person she shared her thoughts with, he had started to show a different side - casually cruel and demanding, as quick to anger as he was to remind her that he was the one person who cared for her, who had been there for her when she needed someone, who had helped her.
And that much was true - he had helped her. There had been two moments in particular, two horrific moments, that she knew she would not have survived without him. But she pushed the thought of those away.
And in any case, he was, in a way, quite literally under her skin. He knew her, all the terrible things about her, and still he was there for her. How many people had that, she reasoned with herself, when Tom groused at her for making friends, or hurt her in a moment of fury. How many people could say that someone knew them so completely and still cared? Heaven knows that she did not seem particularly skilled in making friends, Prewetts aside. And he always apologized afterwards, a kindness none of the matrons or older children in the orphanage had ever shown her.
She settled on the right rock and pictured a frog - the complex anatomy hidden beneath the slimy skin, lungs and tongue and stomach - but Tom cut in before she was quite there.
Someone’s coming.
She stilled in a different way, heart pounding in her throat. She heard it now, the sound of boots crashing through the underbrush.
“And this is where we’ll be doing the hunt?” She shrunk back towards a tree, hoping to escape notice, but the haughty voice was altogether too close.
“The forest is full of elk, I’m sure you’ll be satisfied.” Hermione recognized this voice, even though it was lacking the playful lilt it usually had. The men came into view - James Potter, crown prince, accompanied by Lucius Malfoy and a retinue of knights.
“It looks like we may have found something more interesting already.” Malfoy’s voice was slick and oily. She turned to face the ground with low eyes. Gideon was standing behind Malfoy and the prince, looking like he bit into something sour.
“Your highness. My Lord.” She dipped into a curtsy, keeping her eyes on the ground.
“And who might this lovely creature be?” Malfoy said, stepping closer. She shrunk back as far as she could without taking a step back.
They didn’t see anything. Tom’s words did little to comfort, even though she knew they were true - not only had she been practicing magic, she had been doing so in the King’s woods, adding insult to injury.
“She’s a scullery maid, my lord.” Gideon said, voice tight. The proper address felt weighty. Gideon was a member of a noble house, though not one that held rule the way the Malfoys did. He would not need to address him as a lord, despite his relatively lower station, so him doing so feels like a warning. “She wouldn’t be of interest to you.”
A scullery maid with power beyond you imagination. Tom hissed, and his familiar ire was almost enough to make her relax.
That is really not the point, Tom.
“And what is a scullery maid doing so deep in the forest? There are dangerous beasts out here, girl.” Malfoy said with no small pleasure, a cat playing with a mouse.
“Our woods are perfectly safe, Lucius.” The prince said, snorting. Hermione looked up in surprise at the bald lie, meeting his eyes. Everyone knew the woods were dangerous, especially at night. He smiled reassuringly at her and she snaps her eyes back down.
“I’d wager you’re the most dangerous thing here.” Gideon jibed at the blond lord, but Hermione could still feel his eyes drilling a hole in her.
“You should be careful where you wander.” Malfoy said, all too close. “With that hair, someone might mistake you for a mythical beast and shoot an arrow in you.” It felt like a threat.
“I will, my lord. Thank you.” She pushed the words out through clenched teeth. Tom was seething, blood and screams flitting though her thoughts.
“I believe they were looking for you in the castle, Hermione.” Gideon said, and then blanched slightly. It was too much familiarity, likely to draw more attention when she wanted less. Malfoy turned to look at him curiously.
“Yes, my lord. I was just heading back for dinner preparations.” She curtsied again before turning and practically running out of the woods, feeling three pairs of eyes on her back all the way.
We have to stay out of the forest until after the tourney. She thought wildly, heart pounding. Until they’re all gone. Tom said nothing.
The silence didn’t last long.
We should go now.
I just want to sleep. Hermione was exhausted after a long day of work and the fearful encounter.
No one will be out there at night, and you need to practice. Would you rather risk doing it in your chambers?
In the end, Hermione was too exhausted to argue, and found herself back in the forest in the cover of night. A blue ball of flames danced next to her head, lighting her way. That was one piece of magic she was particularly proud and fond of. It had been one of the first things she had learned to do, and Tom had even commented on the ease with which she had learned to do it. An affinity for fire? He had teased, filling her with pride.
This is not smart. She said now, but she also had to admit that she was less upset than she should be. The forest was silent and the air was crisp, and she was looking forward to practicing. It always felt cleansing to her, a release for all her tension.
You heard the princeling. The forest is perfectly safe. And there’s something new I want to show you.
Excitement buzzed under Hermione’s skin. Tom had shown her wondrous things in the years she had been learning from him, but she knew there was more, always more, and it was intoxicating.
Patience. He chuckled, reveling in her enthusiasm. These were the moments where she felt the happiest with Tom - the joy of leaning, his eagerness to teach, the promise of something new.
And then she heard the howl.
It was loud and close, too close, and it chilled her to the bone. Tom’s sudden stone cold silence made her fear worse, and she froze for an instant before he bellowed.
RUN!
And she did, pelting through the woods towards the castle. She heard the wolf - but surely a normal wolf couldn’t make that sound - crashing towards her. Part of her brain idly recognized that the quiet of the woods she had been reveling in had been unnatural, too quiet, she should have known.
Not now. Tom ordered, and she could have sworn he was panting too. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears and she could see the lights of the castle up ahead when she tripped over something, hitting the forest floor hard.
Get up get up GET UP Tom shouted as she scrambled to her feet, feeling a sharp pain. Something crashed behind her and she stupidly, so stupidly, turned around to see an impossible huge white wolf snarl at her. Her breath froze in her throat.
LET ME OUT.
And Hermione did. Her whole body felt like it was on fire, burning from the inside out. This was how Tom had saved her, before - he took over, orchestrated her body, moved her somehow. It was a terrible, terrible pain, but she needed him. She felt something burst through her chest and the wolf was thrown back. A horrible scream echoed through the forest and it took her a moment to realize that it was hers, but Tom was already piloting her trembling legs towards - somewhere, her sense of direction completely lost. The wolf was right behind her, and she - Tom - they took a moment to look back just in time to see an enormous stag crash into the wolf, throwing it off the path. She heard a bark at her ankles and saw a dog - no, a Grim, one that was vaguely familiar - nipping at her heels, as if it was trying to direct her somewhere. To her surprise, Tom let it, following the beasts lead.
And then there was a cabin - one Hermione had never seen, despite spending a good part of the past five years in these woods -and the grim barked at them until she opened the door and threw herself inside. She knew that she needed to block the door somehow, move something in front of it, but she collapsed to the floor in agony before she can.
The last thing she saw before she blacked out was the Grim change into a man.