Chapter Text
Another day, a different dream perhaps.
. . .
Flames.
Everywhere.
Lapping up the walls, climbing the curtains, spilling across the ceiling in pools of orange and red light. So bright, they burned her eyes, so hot, they scorched her flesh, filled her lungs with copious smoke, black rot, turning her esophagus to ash.
She choked, gagged, clawed at her throat, desperate for air, desperate for life. Tears streamed from her eyes, turning her vision hazy; she could barely make out shapes in the vast chaos of the family parlor.
The wood floor beneath her was warm, flammable, unsafe as every other surface. She scrambled on her hands and knees, heavy skirts tangled around her legs, slowing her progress, making her clumsy as she pulled herself futilely towards the doorway.
A crash, an explosion beside her, fresh plumes of flame and sizzling embers erupting high into the air like the mouth of a spitting volcano, spilling molten lava across the grand piano, the settee, the chaise lounge. Everything was burning. Everything was dying. Hermione was next.
She coughed up murky spittle, wiped away strings of saliva with the back of an ash-stained hand. Panting, she inhaled more smoke, suspended in a black haze of poison gas, hellfire flickering through gaps in the smoke clouds.
She couldn’t go on. Her limbs were too weak, her arms too shaky to support her weight. She collapsed in a sweaty heap, her long curls matted with sweat, caked to her forehead and cheeks in a mask that did nothing to protect from her imminent demise.
Then she heard it. Voices. Screaming her name. Unmistakable even through the roaring flames, the deafening snap of an overhead beam as part of the ceiling caved in above her, chunks of plaster and Venetian tile crashing down, the chandelier shattering a mere arm-span away, glass exploding in every direction like crystal shrapnel.
“Hermione!” Her mother.
“Mione!” Her father.
Hermione wept, curling into the fetal position, burying her face in her blistered palms, wracked by dry, broken sobs.
The fire was upon her now, forming a perfect ring around her huddled mass. A sentient being, an angry god born from the pits of hell, come to drag her into the depths of fire and brimstone where her soul would suffer eternal damnation.
There was nothing left to breathe but smoke, nothing left to feel but raw agony as the flames tore through her flesh and seared away her nerve endings, taking her sight, her breath, her life. Her entire body would turn to ash, forever frozen in abject horror like the victims of Pompeii. A passing tourist attraction with no name, no story, no memory. Dust in the wind.
The flames washed over her like a tidal wave, and in that final moment of cognizant terror, she heard her mother scream for her one last time, the sound ringing in her ears, deafening as a cannon blast. “Hermione!”
She screamed as the fire consumed her limbs, skin, muscle, and bone.
“Hermione! Wake up!”
Her eyes flew open, darkness surrounded her.
“Calm down! It’s a dream! It’s just a dream!”
The deafening roar of the fire still echoed all around her. She blinked and turned her head in every direction, searching for the flames, the black smoke, her body tense and ready to spring, to run for her life.
“Stop yelling!” the same voice demanded.
Hermione blinked again and the disembodied voice took physical shape before her. A face, pinched in distress, only centimeters away. Hands clasped her shoulders so tightly, she cringed, but her captor held tight.
Her throat felt raw, scorched. But not by smoke. By her own screaming.
She forced her mouth closed and the roaring stopped. The room fell silent, eerily so. Gasping, she wiped at her face, smearing wetness, staring at her damp fingertips in confusion.
“Hermione? Are you okay?”
Peering up, the face was recognizable now. “Parvati?” she whispered hoarsely.
“Bloody hell, you scared the shite out of me.” The young woman released her shoulders and perched on the edge of the bed.
Hermione drew her knees up beneath the blanket, wrapping her arms around her legs to try to contain her breathing, eradicate the lapping flames from her memory. The nightmares were a regular occurrence, inescapable, but if she forced her mind onto other things, she could usually shake the lingering effects within a few minutes.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’d be amazed if you didn’t wake the entire floor. You were screaming your head off for at least five minutes. I kept shaking you, but you wouldn’t come out of it.”
Hermione gulped, the melancholy taking longer to escape than usual. “It was stronger this time.”
Parvati nodded. “Obviously. Did you take your medicine?”
Hermione looked away.
“It’s okay," her friend said. "I won't tell anyone. But you won’t be able to hide it from them much longer if you keep on like this every night.”
Hermione nodded, running idle fingers through her hair for distraction. “I’ll be okay. I’m sorry for waking you. Do you want some tonic to fall back asleep?”
Parvati shook her head, hands folded in her lap. “No use. Lav’s missing. Again. I’m going to stay up 'til she gets back.”
Hermione raised a brow, glancing to the third bed in their tiny room. The covers were drawn over a lumpy figure. At a distance, it would be easy to mistake for a person, but from where they sat, it was clearly pillows artfully arranged beneath the blanket. “How long has she been gone?”
“I don’t know,” Parvati sighed. “I didn’t hear her leave. But it’s already 2 a.m. Another inspection is due to come round any time. She better hope her skinny arse doesn’t get caught or we’re all in for. You know Umbridge will say we were accomplices.”
Hermione nodded, lips turned down. “If she’s caught, this will be her third strike. Umbridge is dying to make an example of her.” She threw back her blanket and drew her legs over the side of the mattress, knees still weak from the lingering terror of the dream.
Glancing down, she cringed at the large sweat stain left behind on the sheet. It was as if her body had truly thought it was trapped by fire.
“What are you doing?” Parvati asked.
“Finding Lavender and bringing her back before the guard comes.”
“Are you mad? You’ll just get caught and punished, too!”
“I know the route Filch takes, I can avoid him. Stay here, and if she comes back before I do, make sure she stays put.”
Parvati groaned. “Mione, I really don’t think you should—”
“If she gets another strike, she’s out on the streets. Do you really think Lavender can survive being out there on her own?”
They shared an intense, meaningful look before Parvati relented, stepping away from the bed. “Please, be careful.”
Hermione shrugged on the thin robe that barely reached her knees, pulling her long hair free from beneath the collar. “I always am,” she relayed, then tiptoed barefoot to the door, opening it a crack and peering out with shallow breath.
Upon seeing the dimly lit corridor, she slipped outside without a parting glance, carefully shutting the door at her back.
Biting her lip, she pressed close to the wall and padded quickly down the hallway, passing several closed doors, the faint sound of snores and whispers reaching her through the thin barriers.
A few times, she heard laughter and her heart lurched, fearful someone with insomnia would hear her creeping past and stick their head out to investigate. But for the most part, the residents respected each other’s privacy. As long as you stayed out of their business, they stayed out of yours.
Though, a select few loved to meddle, kissing up to the Matron at every opportunity, always on the lookout for rule-breaking. With Hermione's dreadful luck, she’d draw the attention of the wrong person. So she did her utmost to remain silent and invisible, becoming one with the shadows she moved between.
She had a good idea of where her missing roommate might be. The blonde loved to sneak outside to the courtyard to smoke and drink after the majority of the Home went to bed.
Hermione just hoped her friend was engaging in those vices alone. Lavender had received her first two strikes after being caught in the company of young gentlemen after curfew.
Careful to avoid squeaking floorboards, Hermione paced her footfalls strategically, having mapped the various routes through the winding maze over her last few months of residency. She might be one of the Home's newest additions, but she was a quick study, and more observant than most.
Muffled voices sounded around the corner and she slowed her steps, her heart racing at the realization it wasn't a hushed conversation she was overhearing but a deep, heavy moaning.
Good lord…
Swallowing tentatively, she peeked her head around the wall and gazed down the dark corridor, seeing no one. But there was a flickering glow of candle flame reflected across the floor, emitted from a door at the end of the hallway that stood ajar. She debated whether or not to continue towards it.
Heaven knows I don’t want to see them in the act... But if it’s Lavender inside, it’s better I catch her, rather than Filch.
Squaring her shoulders, she dashed forward before a wiser plan could surface, glancing back to ensure the coast was clear and peering inside the faintly lit room.
It was a storage closet, if the abundance of cleaning supplies was any indication.
How foolish of them to engage in such debauchery inside Filch’s own pantry! Did they want to be caught?
Gasping, her eyes flared wide when they flickered past crates and buckets to the gyrating bodies on the other side of the shelves.
She whipped back around and pressed flat to the wall, mortified and shocked. She’d expected to see kissing, heavy petting at worse. But the couple inside was engaged in full-on coitus.
Her cheeks flamed.
What am I doing here?
She prepared to sprint away, then thought of Lavender again.
She hadn’t gotten a good enough look at the female-half of the duo to know if it was her missing roommate inside; the man’s bare, rippling back had taken up her field of vision.
And what if it is her? What am I supposed to do? Knock on the door and kindly interrupt them, tell her it’s time to return to the dorm?
The sounds at her back increased in volume and pace.
“Scream for me,” a deep baritone whispered, mostly gravel.
Hermione’s entire body went rigid, her lungs deflating and blood running cold. She blinked quickly but couldn’t stop the tears from forming, couldn’t stop the buried memory from rising from the grave like a vengeful ghost.
“That’s it, luv, scream for me…”
She screamed with the full force of her lungs, kicking, clawing, twisting. A desperate, dying animal, veins pumping pure adrenaline into thrashing limbs.
“That’s a good girl, now say my name.”
She shuddered hard, pulling free from the waking nightmare with her fists balled tightly. Doubling over, she tried not to gag, her thrumming pulse overpowering the passionate coupling at her back.
“—about time, I was starting to think he’d changed his mind. Couldn’t say I’d blame him.” A new voice had joined the fray, coming from the adjacent hallway.
Hermione straightened at the unmistakably shrill tone of her Matron, glancing around like a cornered doe about to be skewered by an arrow.
If Umbridge caught her out after curfew, there would be no warnings or reprimands. The woman would throw her out on the street this very night with only the clothes on her back and bare feet beneath her.
The sharp click of high heels on stone floor approached quickly. An uneven shuffle followed closely behind, Filch’s broken gait.
Hermione’s mind went startlingly blank as she fled down the hall, twisting every doorknob in sight.
The last one gave way to her desperate tug and she whispered a silent prayer of reverence before slipping inside.
The room beyond was pitch black, but silent and seemingly empty, suiting her purpose just fine.
She shut the door but for a small sliver to listen through. Holding her breath, she leaned in closely, listening to the Matron and her loyal minion pass through the hallway perpendicular to her hiding spot.
Their conversation was muffled, but she was certain she heard the word “Doctor” in there somewhere.
She waited for the voices to fade entirely before daring to relax, pondering the discovery.
The last doctor had been dismissed before her arrival. She'd heard through the grapevine, Umbridge had been searching for his replacement. Apparently, no respectable physician wanted to tie his horse to a den of wayward teen girls.
With a deep breath, Hermione decided to linger inside the quiet room a few moments longer, strategizing how to best handle Lavender.
She didn’t know why she felt such an obligation to protect her roommates, she'd only known them for a short time, but the girls had been kind and accepting of Hermione from her first day here. While many shunned the new arrival on principal, Parvati and Lavender had taken her under their wings and shown her the ropes, taught her the lay of the land and kept a watchful eye on her while she adjusted to her new, upside-down life.
Finally tasked with repaying the debt, Hermione couldn’t in good conscience leave them to suffer at the hands of Umbridge simply because the Toad Queen hated everyone under her care.
Okay, I’ll spend five more minutes looking, then call it a night. Assuming it wasn’t her in the closet…
In her panic to hide, she’d nearly forgotten about the sordid couple. She wondered if they were close to finishing. The thought made her stomach clench.
A cold draft slipped past her, blowing loose curls into her face.
She spun quickly, blinking in confusion. There were no windows in the room. Where was the gust coming from?
She held her breath and stepped deeper into the all-consuming darkness, her hands extended out to feel along the wall and keep her balance.
An electrical current pulsed through the air, charged particles sweeping around her in a wind tunnel. She gasped and retreated for the door.
“Hermione…”
She clamped a hand over her mouth to capture her scream, barely able to swallow it down before warm breath met her neck, the presence of something else behind her.
Tearing open the door, she barrelled full-speed down the shadowy corridor, mindless of the ruckus she made.
When she reached the intersection at the end of the hall, she started to turn in the direction of her room, but a hunched shadow on the far wall stopped her short.
Filch.
Damn!
She couldn’t risk taking the usual route back, Umbridge would be impossible to bypass. Instead, she spun on her heel and dashed the opposite way, leaving the network of hallways that comprised the Resident dorms and entering another wing entirely.
It was one she knew existed, but had never ventured down, comprised solely of storage rooms. Or, so she’d thought.
She tried to slow her breathing, to quell her rising panic as she tugged every doorknob she crossed. Fortune took mercy on her one more time, the very last handle giving way beneath her trembling touch.
She spilled inside with a cry of relief, sparing a hurried glance at her surroundings.
The room bore a round window near the top of a curved ceiling, illuminating a decent-sized chamber. To her surprise, it also contained a made bed and chest of drawers opposite a standing wardrobe.
She froze at the sight, then again at the sub-zero temperature, gooseflesh decorating her bare legs while she strained to listen for signs of life within the bedroom.
Detecting no movement beyond her frantically pounding chest, she exhaled a plume of cold breath, watching it absorb into the frigid atmosphere.
Tentatively, she made her way to the chest and opened the top drawer, unsurprised to find it empty save for a King James Bible, standard in every room. Shutting it swiftly, she opened the remaining compartments, safely concluding the room was indeed uninhabited.
You did this to yourself, sneaking out like a fool. If you get caught, it will be your own fault.
She carded fingers through her hair, trying to calm her frazzled nerves.
Maybe it will be better if I’m thrown out. I can’t stand it here. And Harry offered to put me up—
She was pulled from her disjointed musings by fast-approaching footsteps outside the door.
Her eyes flared wide, her pulse stuttering as muffled voices joined the fold.
The symphony of noise became louder, drew closer, coming straight for her.
It can’t be…
Of all the rooms in this giant, haunted mausoleum of a girls’ home, they just had to be headed to the very place she'd chosen to hide.
Spinning in a feverish daze, she found no closet door to duck behind. Her eyes glanced briefly at the bed. She was thin enough to slide beneath its frame but the coverlet was too short to reach the floor, rendering the choice null.
Blast it!
She dashed for the standing wardrobe, her only option it seemed, and tugged open its doors, facing forward and tucking herself inside. It was a tight fit, but after folding her legs and sucking in her breath, she was able to enclose herself in the compartment just as the voices arrived outside the bedroom door.
A faint creaking of hinges, followed by footsteps entering, at least two sets.
The distinct click click click of heels made her cringe in the darkness, but the slow, steady gait that followed was far too even and smooth to belong to Filch.
Her heart raced so violently, she pressed a hand to her chest to keep the organ contained within her body.
If I’m caught like this, I’m done for.
Closing her eyes, she willed herself to become invisible.
“I hope you will find the room satisfactory,” Umbridge said, her voice clawing through the wardrobe door. “It is located in the east wing; you’ll have plenty of privacy. Of course, every now and then, one of the residents likes to sneak off and do God knows what. Delinquents, the lot of them. If you should find anyone roaming about, report them directly to me and I shall dole out the proper punishment.”
Hermione held her breath, terrified to even blink.
“The room is more than satisfactory. Thank you, Madam.”
Thought evaded her entirely as the deep, resonating baritone traveled through the wood with a pleasant hum.
A man's voice, perfectly foreign to her ears.
There were only a handful of men employed by the Home, Filch being set before the residents most frequently. Aside from outside gardeners and maintenance workers, and the owner of the local Apothecary who made infrequent visits, Hermione couldn't recall any other male staff members.
“Good," Umbridge replied. "Well, I shall let you get settled then, Doctor.”
Doctor? It seemed the Matron had found a replacement, after all. For some inexplicable reason, the revelation sent chills down Hermione’s spine.
“I appreciate your hospitality, Madam, especially at this hour.”
Footsteps headed in her direction, heavy, precise.
Hermione drew in a shuddering breath, pressing against the solid backing of the wardrobe.
This was it, she was about to be discovered and thrown onto the street, left to rot in the gutter, scrounging for food scraps, begging for coins and drinking from filthy puddles—
The doors parted swiftly. Soft candlelight streamed through, alongside a beam of moonlight that perfectly illuminated the face of the handsome stranger standing less than a foot away.
Staring right at her.
Their eyes locked, hers wide with unbridled terror, his slightly narrowed, without scorn. He possessed storm grey irises that glowed from within, robbing her of what little coherency she had left.
The corner of his mouth tipped up. Then as though nothing was amiss, he glanced away and began shrugging out of his overcoat.
“I look forward to meeting the residents tomorrow,” he said, reaching inside the wardrobe to extract a folding hanger from above her head. She watched in vacant shock as he casually strung the garment around the wood and hung it beside her.
“Your feelings will change soon after you do, I assure you,” her Matron said with no shortness of scorn, still hovering near the entrance, outside of Hermione’s eye line.
The Doctor’s gaze locked with Hermione’s again, rendering her motionless as a pin through a butterfly wing. “I beg to differ. I have a feeling there are some rather interesting individuals residing here.”
A warm flush spilled across her neck and chest, making her hyper-aware of her bare legs on display. She wanted to pull down her robe, wrap it around her knees, but feared the motion would draw her Matron’s attention.
“The only interesting thing about them is how wild and graceless they can be," the Madam replied. "They go out of their way to disgrace everything the fairer sex stands for.”
The stranger raised a bold brow, his features sharp in the flickering candlelight. His smirk gave way to a smile that revealed a row of perfectly white, gleaming teeth, but his expression held no trace of humor. It was cruel, mocking, and made Hermione shrink back instinctively.
“It seems you harbor no affection for your charges, Madam.”
Umbridge scoffed indelicately. “As I said, wait until you meet them for yourself.”
His eyes remained fixed upon Hermione, unyielding in their intensity. “I look forward to it.”
Then to her great and utter befuddlement, he winked and closed the doors, submerging her in darkness.
She released a stilted breath, her lungs starved for oxygen, the muffled exchange continuing outside the wardrobe.
Oh my god.
She pressed a hand to her chest, slid those trembling fingertips to her neck, checking for a pulse. The painful thrum of her artery came to life beneath her touch, proving she hadn't dropped dead. Yet.
Oh my god.
She was beyond forming anything more substantial. The moment was unreal, a dream, unlike her usual nightmares, but no less terrifying in its clarity. There could be no other explanation.
She stared into the void until her Matron’s clacking heels receded down the hallway, then fell perfectly still, lingering in the silence, unsure what to do.
“You can come out now," a steady voice bid.
She cringed, hoping he'd gone as well.
This is his room, idiot. You're the intruder.
Slowly unfurling her legs, she pushed the wardrobe door open, hovering awkwardly atop its wide shelf, gazing upon him with fearful eyes.
He stood before the foot of the bed, his arms folded across his chest. A prolonged view of him revealed a frightening beauty. Pretty things were always the most dangerous.
Tall and lean, his proportions were carved by an artist's chisel. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, the sleeves of his shirt rolled part-way up to expose pale, sinewy forearms. His thick wave of dark brown hair shone black in the moonlight, paired magnificently against high cheekbones and a sharp jaw.
But how she took these details into account was truly a mystery, for she hadn't been able to pull her focus away from his eyes for even a moment. They seemed to pulse in response, charged by a magic long-forgotten by man.
She shuddered at the childish notion, reminded of her sparse evening attire. Another quiet gasp and she pulled her robe closed, tying the sash with clumsy fingers.
“Hello,” he greeted, in a tone that both stroked and rattled her nerves.
Her eyes darted to the bedroom door. Closed.
Please don’t let it be locked…
“My name is Doctor Riddle. And you are?”
Her eyes snapped forward, jittery as a rabbit before a cat. But an invisible force kept her grounded, lending her the fortitude to reply in a small, hoarse voice, “Hermione.”
He nodded, as though he'd suspected that was her name, and turned to the bed with unhurried poise. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Hermione.” She watched him lean down and open a traveling case at the center of the mattress. “Do I want to know why you were hiding in my wardrobe?”
She took a deep breath. “It wasn't your wardrobe when I first got in.”
This seemed to amuse him, a secretive smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Fair enough.”
He started to pull clothing and books from the case, spreading them over the coverlet in a meticulous fashion. Watching him work, she became entranced. Then he faced her again.
“I have a feeling you’re not where you’re supposed to be, and the Madam of the Home will have a great deal to say on the matter if you’re caught.”
She took a step back but he made no motion forward, merely tilted his head and roamed her figure in such a clinical manner, it didn’t unsettle her as it normally would.
“I won’t report you," he said. "But I suggest you return to where you need to be, post-haste.”
Nodding mutely, she edged back, holding his gaze in fascination. An unknown emotion took root in his expanding pupils.
“Thank you,” she whispered, uncertain what else to say before whirling for the door.
When she turned the knob, he recalled her attention.
“Hermione.”
Peering over her shoulder, a dark smile awaited her.
“Sleep well," he bid, making her mouth run dry.
Words were impossible so she nodded instead, slipping through the narrow parting into the hall and clicking the door shut at her back.
She pressed her forehead to the wood, half-convinced she was still curled inside his wardrobe, awaiting discovery.
Did that really just happen?
Shaking her head, she forged on, stumbling along the dusty corridor with a lump in her throat.
Replaying their brief encounter, she lost track of her return route and made several wrong turns, costing her precious time and delivering her headlong into the huddled figure in the shadows.
Inhaling sharply, she was prepared to shatter glass with her scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth.
“Shh!” A male voice demanded.
She reared back, fighting the strong grip with a muffled squeal.
“Mione, shut up!”
The sound of her nickname rendered her motionless long before the voice could spark a memory. The restraining hand eased and she pushed it off the rest of the way, glaring hatefully at its owner.
“Cormac, you idiot! What are you—”
Her tirade was derailed by another revelation. A man's sweaty back, muscles flexing in time to his thrusts. Her cheeks scorched.
“You were in the closet with Lavender," she concluded dumbly.
He raised an eyebrow before awarding her with a wolfish grin. “Watching us, luv? I had no idea you were a voyeur.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I was trying to rescue Lavender from herself. If she gets caught sneaking around after curfew, she’ll be chucked onto the street. But I doubt you care about that, so long as you get your midnight kicks.”
He shook his head and inspected her slowly, the lecherous perusal nothing like the Doctor. She felt dirty and exposed, stepping back with a shameful blush.
“Maybe you should help her out then. Sneak out in her place. You know I’d make it good for you.”
Acid rose in her throat. “Get. Out.” You vile, loathsome pig went unspoken, but the moniker was clearly read in her eyes.
Cormac wasn’t deterred however, laughing at her ire like it was some private joke between them. He carded a hand through his hair and winked, another perverted mockery of the Doctor, before stepping to the window.
She was about to ask him just what in the hell he thought he was doing, but his intent became clear enough when he pushed open the pane and hoisted himself onto the ledge.
“Are you mad?” she hissed.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Worried about me, luv?”
She crossed her arms. “Do try to break your fall with your neck.”
He tossed back his head and laughed. She glanced around frantically, terrified Filch would overhear.
“I’ll see you later,” he said, blowing her a kiss and sliding his other leg over the side before dropping out of sight.
She gasped, racing forward and peering down in time to see the idiot land atop the springy shrubs in a graceless sprawl.
Her sigh was equal parts relief and annoyance as she closed the pane and fastened the latch, catching sight of her pale reflection in the glass.
A stranger's face stared back at her, marked by pain and trauma, blurring until her features became unrecognizable. She looked away before the screams could follow, continuing her journey to the dorms.
By the time she slipped inside her room, she felt well and truly exhausted. The silver lining would be a coma-like sleep the moment she closed her eyes, her mind too overtaxed to concoct any more nightmares.
“Hermione, thank god! We thought Filch had snagged you!” Parvati declared from beside the door, making Hermione jump.
Movement drew her attention to the third bed.
Lavender sat against the headboard, braiding her golden tresses into an intricate plait. Hermione opened her mouth but her recovered roommate beat her to the punch.
“Please, spare me the lecture, I know it already. I’m a bloody idiot who's just asking for trouble, you’re terribly disappointed in me. Got it.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s no fun when you say it for me.”
Her friend smirked. “Sorry I made you go chasing after me."
Hermione made her way towards her bed, weary down to her bones now that the adrenaline had dissipated.
“Did you spot Filch?” Parvati asked.
Biting her lip, Hermione debated just how much to share. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to keep her exchange with the Doctor private. She had so few things that belonged solely to her anymore.
Tossing her robe to the foot of the mattress, she slid her legs beneath the blanket.
“No,” she muttered, laying her head on the pillow. “I didn’t see anyone.”