Chapter Text
“Remind me why we’re in the Forbidden Forest again actively trying to locate Acromantulas?” Nigel’s voice wobbled, even as he stood at the front of the party.
As their scout and an expert in trap detection, he filled a valuable role in their party. There was unlikely to be any dark curses or mechanical contraptions in the forest. Nevertheless, he had a keen eye for tracking and could often sense creatures before seeing them.
“Be-cause we were specifically asked by Harry to ensure student safety before school resumes,” Hermione said.
Harry, one of her best friends. Harry, whose godson was set to attend Hogwarts the following year. Harry, who was also the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Failing to locate the Acromantula nest was not an option.
“Did you know a mature Acromantula corpse is worth more than both of your entire Gringotts vaults combined?”
They turned twin glares on the third in their party who had no qualms whatsoever in belittling his peers. Dressed all in black with gleaming leather that Hermione could only assume was the finest weave of mooncalf wool, he looked the picture of leadership. Not a single speck of dirt could be found on the entire ensemble. That was because, Malfoy had explained in his usual haughty tone, his clothes were custom made with impervious and odour repelling charms. She could dunk him in a swamp and he’d walk out cleaner than Ron Weasley’s plate at the end of a meal.
“No, I did not know that. What excellent insight you bring to our group yet again, Malfoy,” she retorted. If only she could silence him and save them any further useless tidbits of information.
“Do you know why they’re so valuable?” He persisted, of course.
“I’m sure you’ll tell us even if I don’t ask.”
“While, yes, almost every part of the corpse can be used in potion-making, they are also delightful fried and lightly salted." Malfoy closed his eyes and smacked his lips as he no doubt reminisced over the memory of skewered Acromantula.
“And that is my cue to keep walking,” Nigel said with a grimace, to which Hermione hastily agreed. Let Malfoy fall behind in his horrific fantasies. The two of them would be more than enough to locate whatever nests remained and purge the residents.
She said “remained” because following the Battle of Hogwarts, there had been several sweeps of the forest to ensure no further remnants of Voldemort’s army remained. The giants who didn’t actually want to be there were returned to the mountains from whence they’d come. Vampires, hags, and other dark beings who would not be reasoned with were detained and pressed into the strongest compulsion charms known to wizardkind. Charms against further acts of aggression outside of self-defence, charms to avoid any Hogwarts property, and charms to leave the magical restrictions in place.
The Acromantulas, however, could not and would not be controlled. With Aragog dead and Hagrid no longer a stopping force, the spiders scattered and attacked without warning in each encounter. Aurors and other volunteers had been forced to terminate each one until not a single one seemingly remained.
That had been over a decade ago, now, and the Centaurs spoke again of entire swathes of the forest lost beneath webs and long shadows that never abated. Acromantulas, they said. Death, they warned.
So here Hermione was, a Magical Creatures employee accompanied by Auror Draco Malfoy and Scout Nigel Wolpert in an inter-departmental mission. Even though he’d been hired under a short year-long contract, Nigel had quickly become a familiar face with how frequently they’d been in the field together over the past months. She hadn’t known him very well before despite their time together in the D.A., but she knew him well enough now.
The same could also unfortunately be said of Draco Malfoy, Former bully, current Hit Wizard a.k.a. pain in her arse, and apparently an exotic food aficionado.
“Oh, please. Tell me that you aren’t the slightest bit curious how one might taste, especially once we’ve found one and I have the plate in front of you.”
“Morgana, have mercy,” Hermione muttered, not once slowing her gait as her partner continued describing all the ways in which they might go about capturing one with as little damage to the body as possible. She didn’t even bother pointing out the obvious fact that Acromantulas were sentient, though they didn’t seem to gain that ability until full maturation.
It was unfortunate he couldn’t execute his plans as cleanly as he’d described them.
Nigel’s upraised hand stopped her in her tracks. That Malfoy didn’t crash into her from behind gave her at least a small amount of reassurance in his capabilities. At least he was paying that much attention to their surroundings.
“What is it?” she asked, peering around into the gloom.
“They have us surrounded. I didn’t even notice them until any escape was cut off.”
That Nigel hadn’t sensed their presence set off warning bells. She should demand they use their Portkeys and investigate the area later. It would be the safe thing to do. The smart thing.
This being their most dangerous mission to date, Hermione only had past history to gauge how Malfoy would react. According to Harry, the last time he’d been with Draco Malfoy in the forest, the boy had made cowardly Fang look like a hero. She expected the adult to share her precautions.
“Yahhhhhhh!” With a high-pitched scream that completely mismatched his all-black ensemble, Malfoy charged into the darkness with wand extended.
“Wha–Malfoy! Get back here right this minute!” she screeched. Of course, he didn’t listen to her.
Nigel looked over at her wide-eyed, the panic evident in his frozen state. “I didn’t sign up for combat.” His fingers inched towards the pouch at his waist where she knew he’d stored his Portkey.
“We can’t leave him behind.”
“He left us behind.”
Nigel had her there. Her partner had done exactly what they’d been taught not to do. He’d gone and left her unprotected, thus leaving himself open to attack, as well.
“Just, help me set a perimetre, would you?” she pleaded, already waving her wand in complicated patterns.
“Fine,” the younger man grumbled, “but I am not leaving the wards to save his sorry arse.”
She beamed in response. Nigel was more attached to them than he let on, even if he used his contract as the reason for his staying. Hermione knew she could trust him to watch her back as she focused on their protective barrier.
A concentration that nearly broke when a mid-size Acromantula flew out of the treeline and bounced off the bubble.
“Ack!”
“Sorry ‘bout that!” Malfoy popped back into view, a wide grin splitting his face from ear to ear. “That’s one!”
Then he was gone again, diving out of sight and leaving the two of them to stare down in shock at his offering. From what she could tell, the Acromantula was dead. She’d described it as mid-sized earlier, but by Muggle estimations it was monstrously huge. Large enough to compete with a sports car, the visible venom glands and vibrant spit identified it as a Venomous Shooter. They were capable of spitting acid across great distances.
“M-M-Merlin,” Nigel whimpered. In his surprise, he’d fallen onto his backside and remained that way.
“That’s only one of them,” she said grimly. It was a reminder that they couldn’t let up their spellcasting now. She trusted her wards, but also knew Matriarchs could bite through with enough force.
A splash of white appeared in her periphery. Malfoy sprinted toward them, then dived into the bubble with perfect technique. She’d have graded him a ten if she wasn’t already raising her wand to fire off back-to-back spells at the horde behind him.
“Confringo! Confringo!”
“Reducto!!” Nigel bellowed.
The resulting impact could be felt even within their wards as the air knocked them back and the ground shook. They coughed where they lay in the ensuing smoke. The small clearing in which they’d taken refuge was silent now, not that Hermione expected it to stay that way for long. More Acromantulas and other beasts would come to investigate the disturbance.
“I thought,” she coughed, then cleared her throat, “you said you weren’t here to fight?”
“Yes, well, it was a kill or be killed sort of situation.” Nigel sounded muffled and it wasn’t until the smoke dissipated that she saw why.
“You tosser,” Malfoy threw out once he spotted the Bubble-head charm obscuring Nigel’s features. Hermione had half a mind to agree. If she’d known what he was going to do, she would have cast a similar charm on herself. Then, she frowned at Malfoy’s follow-up. “You’ve wasted perfectly good Acromantulas!”
He waved over at the source of the impact.
There wasn’t much left–bits of black hair here and there scattered on the surrounding foliage. Some legs looked like they might be salvageable. The only intact carcass she could find was the original Shooter Malfoy had sent flying at the start.
“Well, if you hadn’t gone charging in like some mindless troll then I wouldn’t have had to do anything.” Nigel’s tone then took on a high-pitched, overly exaggerated accent, “Why, thank you, Nigel, for saving my proper Pureblood balls–hey!”
He glared up at Hermione, rubbing at the side where she’d aimed her stinging hex. “What was that for? I was only stating what we were both thinking!”
“Don’t you dare speak for me, Nigel Wolpert! Yes, he’s an idiot–”
“How rude!”
“And yes, you likely did save him–”
“I had everything well in control!”
“–but you will not resort to blood insults!”
“But, Hermione–”
“Period!”
They both stared at her now, Nigel’s brow furrowed and lips turned in an upside down ‘U’, and Malfoy’s rounded in a small ‘o’ of surprise.
“Now, before we have the rest of the forest on us, let’s relocate and assess.” Hermione refused to return to Headquarters without something to show for all the trouble, even if they only had a single Acromantula corpse as evidence.
They made quick work of the Shooter and what other parts they could find, shrinking them down to size into evidence bags, before taking their Portkeys to the edge of the forest closest to Hogsmeade and outside of Hogwarts’ anti-Apparition wards.
“Nigel, see if you can pick up any other traces of Acromantulas near here. I’ll update our map and notes with what we just found. Malfoy…Malfoy?”
She turned to find he’d vanished from her side. Spinning around in fear he’d been left behind, she sighed with relief when she spotted him down by a small brook. It took her another minute to identify the small mountain next to him as the dismembered corpse of the Shooter. He appeared to be rinsing each piece in the running water.
“Malfoy, what in Circe’s name are you doing?”
“Since we’ll be here for a while yet, I’m making us something to eat.”
He squawked in indignation when she Accio’d the carcass quicker than a Seeker on a Snitch.
“Hey! I was cleaning that!”
“We are not eating the evidence! How do you even know this wasn’t one of the sentient ones?”
They commenced a battle of summoning spells, wands whipping through the air and Acromantula bits ping-ponging above the brook. Anyone passing by might have thought they were playing a game with how well they volleyed the body parts. That was until they had caught a glimpse of the grimaces on their faces.
When it came to magic, Hermione held a distinct advantage; not only did her knowledge outpace his, so, too, did her reserves. Malfoy stood little chance against her in a war of attrition. He knew it. She knew it. Her scowl slowly transformed into a smile as it became clear his casts were weakening with each subsequent spell and counterspell.
Her overconfidence would forever be her downfall.
“Blaurgh!” She spat out the mouthful of dirt and grass that had been kicked up into her face.
“Take that, you harpy!” Malfoy crowed, his reward forgotten in a pile on the ground as he laughed triumphantly.
“You really shouldn’t play with food.”
The strangely familiar voice, unlike any of their own, interrupted their mutual distraction. Hermione and Malfoy swivelled on their heels, allies once more, their wands both pointed at the source.
A man stood on the edge of the road, his hands held high in surrender. A pack sat at his feet. They must have been completely oblivious to their surroundings if he’d had the time to remove and set it down before catching their attention. Even more concerning was that Nigel hadn’t said anything in warning; he should have detected the intruder long before he approached.
Long, dark hair pulled part way from a face partially covered by a rough beard and moustache. Piercing eyes scanned his surroundings, and he stood in a relaxed stance that she suspected could spring into action in the blink of an eye.
“Dolohov?” Malfoy’s incredulity had her tightening the grasp on her wand.
No wonder he’d looked familiar. Antonin Dolohov and Hermione had directly clashed twice before Voldemort’s downfall and his subsequent imprisonment. She hadn’t read anything of the wizard lately, and thus he’d faded from her thoughts, occasionally resurfacing whenever she inspected herself in the mirror. She still wore his scar.
“Young Malfoy. Long time no see.” He had the nerve to laugh as if he’d made a joke.
“What are you doing here?” Hermione wasn’t taking any chances. What were the odds that Dolohov had come across them shortly after their escape from a mission that should have been a secret? And why hadn’t Nigel detected him?
Nigel, who looked on the scene with a bored expression from where he sat on a large rock. To her irritation, he didn’t even have his wand up; it balanced on his knee while its owner threaded both hands behind his head without a care in the world. They would have words later on security and decorum.
“I was taking a walk and noticed your little match.”
“You expect us to believe you happened upon us by chance?”
The man had the audacity to shrug, as if her disbelief was no concern of his, as if he didn’t have two Auror wands trained on his person. “Believe what you want. It is the truth.”
“Where are you walking to?” This time it was Malfoy asking the question, his eyes flitting over the other wizard’s clothes and the pack on the ground. “I thought you’d left the continent.”
Now that sent Hermione’s eyebrows upwards. She’d thought Malfoy too busy outside of work with Quidditch and one-night stands to pay any attention to anything else. Or, were there still ties in place between the Malfoys and former allies, Dark Wizards or not?
“I did. Now, I am back.” Dolohov grinned and sent a wink Hermione’s way.
The nerve of him.
She shot off a stinging jinx without a second’s hesitation, one the wizard automatically parried with a lazy wave of his hand.
“Answer Malfoy’s question about where you’re headed,” she ordered. It peeved her more than she cared to admit that the man had so easily deflected her magic.
Once again he shrugged, maintaining his smile. “The equinox is nearly upon us and I have traditions to uphold.”
To Hermione’s horror, her partner dropped his wand and nodded.
“Malfoy! What are you doing?”
“The man hasn’t done anything, Granger, and we have no reason to accuse him any further. He’s right. Equinox is soon and others will likely follow with similar intentions.”
His explanation made little sense to Hermione, but, then again, she had a habit of sticking close to friends for any of the usual seasonal celebrations.
“Intentions?”
“The Forbidden Forest harbours more than dark creatures in her canopy. There are countless pools and glades in which wizardkind welcomes Spring.”
Dolohov’s soft accent as he described the reason for his presence had the added effect of relaxing her arm. She still held the wand point towards him, but her arm bent at the elbow like it meant to drop at any moment.
What he said made sense. Over the years, Hermione alternated between the Weasleys, Lovegoods, and Longbottoms for Yule, Imbolc, and Beltane, to name a few. This particular Ostara, she had agreed to camp underneath the stars with Teddy and Andromeda to watch the sunrise.
“Say I believe that you chose to come here of all places rather than your homeland or elsewhere. Why approach us?”
“Like I said, you shouldn’t play with perfectly good food.” He looked pointedly at the spider carcass.
“Do you know how to prepare Acromantula?” Malfoy eagerly asked, his wand already working to gather up the dismembered pieces and float them towards the other wizard.
The sound of Nigel gagging behind Hermione reminded her of the entire reason for her fight with Malfoy.
“We shouldn’t eat the evidence! Not to mention, I am not eating that thing.” Hermione shuddered as she remembered the clicking pincers, the multitude of eyes bearing down on them.
“I do, in fact, have a recipe for Acromantula. Let me set up a few things.” Dolohov ignored the two of them in favour of responding to Malfoy. He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed his pack.
“We don’t really need the body, Granger. Potter can always scan our memories for evidence, and we will probably go back in and clear whatever else we find,” Malfoy reasoned. “Plus, I’m famished. Aren’t you?”
The growl her stomach gave off couldn’t be better timed.
“Sod it. Do whatever you want. I’ll eat what I brought.” She had a boiled egg, as well as a ham sandwich, tucked into her pack. Even cold, they had to be better than any monstrosity those two would cook up.
Hermione took over the rock Nigel had vacated and turned her back to the others, preferring to keep watch over the forest. She, at the very least, wouldn’t be caught unawares again. Let the boys play at cooking.
The first bite of egg had her groaning in delight. Even without salt or a splash of soy sauce, the squish between her teeth hit just right. She could probably live off of eggs alone if only that was all the body needed.
It wasn’t until she was halfway through her sandwich, that she smelled it.
Salty, meaty, dare say even–
“It tastes like fried chicken!” Nigel cried.
Her feet carried her over to the other three without conscious thought. They huddled around a large black pot that bubbled and popped with oil. Where they’d gotten the liquid, Hermione couldn’t say. Maybe Dolohov employed similar extension charms to hers.
Speaking of the man, he held a plate covered with a wide array of fresh-from-the-fryer Acromantula parts. If she looked at it just right, she could imagine they were chicken fingers. Dolohov angled the plate towards her with another one of his damnable winks. “Care to try some?”
“It’s really good, Hermione!” Nigel added unprompted.
“No, no, that’s quite alright. I have my own food to–”
“Too much of a coward, Granger?” Malfoy drawled right before taking a bite of his spider leg. Each crunch was audible as he happily polished off the piece down to the last tip.
Hermione Granger was not a coward, and Draco Malfoy knew it. The git just loved to goad her. If she caved, if she took a single bite, then she’d prove herself susceptible to his taunting, and he’d just keep on doing it.
Then again, not taking a bite would probably look like cowardice to the others.
“I’m not trying it in reaction to you,” she threw at her partner as she snatched up the meatiest piece she could find. “I simply think it rude to turn down someone else’s cooking.”
“Ms Granger, you might want to pick another part. The belly is–”
Whatever Dolohov had to say was lost to the squelch of Hermione’s vicious bite. Her eyes widened as the flavour coated her tongue.
“Ah,” he said. “The belly is the most prized, but also the most bitter, part of the Acromantula. I do not recommend it for first-timers.” He bit his lip in sympathy as Hermione fought the urge to spit out the overly large mouthful she’d taken.
She’d survived for months in the Forest of Dean off of whatever she and the boys could forage: berries, mushrooms, pinecones, and even tree bark. She could swallow this.
But, oh!
Not only was the belly bitter, it was also sour, the thick slime of which clung to every crevice and pocket of her maw to stake its claim. The crusty shell Dolohov had expertly salted and fried could not completely hide the bits of hair that threaded between her teeth.
She gagged, then fought the feeling off with gritted teeth. She could hear her traitor party members giggling in the background.
To his credit, Dolohov did not join in with them. “Ms Granger, just spit it out. You do not need to force yourself.”
Through her watering eyes, she saw that he had set down the platter and now stood in front of her, hands hovering in uncertainty.
With a growl and a stomp of her foot, she summoned every ounce of courage within her body and gulped.
A tap at her shoulder and a wand pointed at her lips prompted her to open wide. “Aguamenti!”
The first drops of water were an immediate relief. She drank in the fountain for a short duration, before Dolohov dropped his arm and peered at her with what looked suspiciously like worry.
“Okay?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She was not going to ignore the kindness, even if he should have been quicker to stop her from getting into this predicament in the first place. No matter. It was still her fault for jumping in hotheaded like a green recruit.
“There’s more where that came from,” Malfoy sang gleefully.
This time, she accepted the small portion she was provided, as well as waited a beat or two before taking a bite.
“Are you alright, Hermione?” Nigel asked, eyeing the way she had folded over to hide her face.
She didn’t want them to see the tears that had sprung to the corners of her eyes as the perfectly balanced blend of savoury from the meat, salt and heat from the added spices, and slight sweetness from whatever sauce Dolohov had dolloped on the side burst across her tongue, thoroughly erasing the memories of her first experience.
Her stance tightened even further at Malfoy’s laugh.
“Let her be, Nigel. She’s just had her creature-loving mind spun on its axis.”
Hermione reminded herself this was a juvenile specimen, still too young to have formed a mind capable of complex thought and communication. She was not eating something that might have spoken with her. She was not–
Who was she kidding? She was as good as guilty as the rest.
She popped back up, startling the others into stopping whatever nonsense they’d been blathering to turn her way.
“You can come with us, if you like,” she said, pointedly looking at the man who’d nearly killed her once upon a time. “Journeying will be safer as a group than alone.”
Wherever he’d obtained the gigantic frying pan he’d just started to clean and how he planned to store it was beyond her; perhaps he, too, had his own undetectable extending charm. He didn’t pause in his ministrations, though he did look at her thoughtfully without answering long enough for her to finish her plate.
“I think I will. You are also welcome to take part in the ritual.”
Hermione could not and would not turn down an opportunity to learn something new about this magical world she now called her home. Whatever it was that brought Antonin Dolohov across the continent and back to this island surely was worth additional study.
What she didn’t know was that by including him in their party as they obtained the evidence Harry required, and by accepting his offer to trek into the heart of the forest where unicorns mated, whose grounds they then proceeded to gather unknown soil samples at Dolohov’s behest, they had solidified a future where Acromantulas were among the tamest of their explorations.