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His White Queen: A Prequel	By : jsu1660n Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 18950 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Harry Potter, neither the characters from the books or movies. I receive no profit from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
A/N: Noncon Sexual Content Ahead. Very graphic chapter, not for the faint of heart!!

Chapter Five

The prisoner, Rupert Leibovith, was on his knees with his wrists chained above his head. Leibovith was dirty and bloody, wearing only a pair of trousers. No shirt, socks or shoes. His hair was dirty and matted. He had been imprisoned in Durmstrang for two weeks. The number 12 was burned into his chest for priority ranking.

The cell he was in was disgusting. Water dripped from the ceiling. Mold and grime covered the walls. There was a strong smell of blood, urine and feces. Rats came in and out of the walls, squeaking noisily. There were no beds, only flat, hard mattresses. The four walls were solid and when the door closed, he was in complete darkness. There was a draft that made the rotted blanket feel like tissue paper. This was worse than dying.

He watched the girl, who had yet to draw her wand, flip through a file, presumably his. She could not have been more than thirteen or fourteen, but there was something about her. She had power. So much power. She fingered the medallion around her neck absentmindedly. It was a symbol that put fear in the hearts of both wizard and Muggles alike. It was the Mark of Grindelwald.

Finally, after twenty agonizing minutes of waiting for the seemingly innocent girl to make a move, she closed the folder and placed it over her lap.

“Good morning, Mr. Leibovith.”

“Hello,” he said in a strained, but cautious voice.

She tutted and snapped her fingers. Leibovith flinched as though expecting something horrific to happen. Instead, a small elf appeared, bowing before her.

“Mistress called?”

“Yes, elf, bring a glass of water and prepare a meal of roasted lamb, fresh steamed veggies, and the largest piece of chocolate cake you can find for our guest here.” She could use the phrase guest all she wanted, but they both saw it for what it was.

“Right away, mistress.”

The elf winked out and Meira turned to the man who seemed to be salivating at the thought of food. A glass of water appeared beside her.

“I’m sorry that it’s not something stronger, but there are strict rules against giving the prisoner Firewiskey. Perhaps if this little interview has pleasing results, I may be able to slip you a glass.”

He watched her every step like a battered hound. Tense and afraid. He let her tip his head back slightly so that he could drink the water without spilling any. Leibovith knew he should have been more cautious. She could have slipped him poison or even Veritaserum, but he was too thirsty to care. He drank greedily, choking a few times. He finished the water in large gulps and closed his eyes, enjoying the cooling chill in his throat.

He opened his eyes again and saw that the girl had returned to her chair across from him, the file back in her lap.

“I have to ask you some questions now, Mr. Leibovith.”

“I know nothing,” he answered immediately.

“We both know that’s not true, Mr. Leibovith,” she sighed, seeing that he was going to difficult. “You were captured when your militia who calls themselves Сянката Dragonsor The Shadow Dragonsattacked one of Grindelwald’s camps. You seemed to be a small organization that was of no consequence to Grindelwald, but now, you all have made quite the name for yourselves. A progression from civil disobedience to a full-scale resistance. I researched your background, Mr. Leibovith. You are not the leader of this group. You are more of an information man. You helped the group find properties to plan your meetings, and you find the potential moles. Very nice job on discovering Clemsen for us,” she winked.

The man had paled considerably. “How do you know all of this?”

“Your informant O’Doherty,” she smiled. “Rats nearly ate him to the bone. He died while you were asleep.”

She watched the man tremble, knowing he was close to cracking. “I know nothing,” he said weakly.

“Very well then,” she flicked her wrist and summoned her wand. Even though the room was considerably drafty, the man started to sweat. She twirled the wand between her fingers, knowing he was watching. “We were only able to capture two others along with you. Unfortunately for us, they decided to…end things on their own terms.” Leibovith looked aghast. “Sadly, while they were only thinking of escaping their own pain, they completely forgot about their families.”

“No,” he whispered.

“Laugherty had a wife, a ten-year-old son and twelve-year-old twin girls. Eriksson had a seventeen-year-old daughter who had just finished school.” Her startling gray eyes were cold and flat when they met his. “Can you imagine what Grindelwald’s Soldiers can do to the children of their enemies?”

“And you, you a part of it, too?” he asked, sneering slightly.

“I do my job,” she said simply.

“As what? Grindelwald’s whore? Is that why you wear his—?”

Horrible screams echoed around the cell as Leibovith endured Meira’s silent Cruciatus. Her eyes closed briefly, as she reveled in the power coursing through her body as she administered the curse. The rush of power, the thrill of controlling another’s pain, knowing that at any moment, you could apply too much and watch their life just slip away—it was addicting.

But what Meira enjoyed even more than the physical high of inflicting dark curses on the prisoners, was the simplicity. In the right situation, you could administer the Cruciatus Curse for hours and hours. Meira had used it for three hours on a particularly stubborn prisoner. She knew her mother would be ashamed of her, but for those few seconds when she watched one of her father’s enemies writhe under her wand, she did not care.

She sat patiently and waited for about a minute and a half before lifting the curse. He panted and hung limply by his chains. Both wrists were broken and one of his shoulders had dislocated. She did not intend to use the Cruciatus so early on Leibovith, but to call her a whore, Grindelwald’s whore of all things, was her limit.

“I wonder what the Soldiers would do to your daughter Avania? And maybe even your wife Rosalind?”

“Stop.”

“They keep watch over them, you know. Every single night they stand outside of your house and watch your pretty blonde wife cry herself to sleep.”

“Stop!”

“And as for your daughter, well, according to her healer, Healer Jacobs, she should have no problems touching a unicorn. It would be a shame if that precious virtue was spoiled before she found herself a husband.”

“Stop, please! Just stop!” he pleaded, sobbing softly. “I will tell you whatever you want to know. Just don’t hurt my family.”

She sighed and called for the elf to return with Leibovith’s last meal. She could not promise that his wife and daughter would remain unaffected by his actions. For all she knew they were already dead. Instead, she made the last few hours of his life as comfortable as possible before she uttered the two words that would end his life forever.

She found him in his office having a meeting with his two best men Conrad and Guthrie, smoking cigars.

“Ah, there she is!” Grindelwald said, waving her in. “We were just discussing you, princess.”

“Were you?” She walked around his desk, swallowing her animosity for him. She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Here is all of the information on the Shadow Dragons, father.”

Gellert Grindelwald was a grudgingly handsome man. His hair was the same color as Meira’s and fell to his shoulders. His eyes were a deep blue-green and even though he was well into his fifties, he did not look a day over thirty, partially because of the Anti-Aging Potion he consumed religiously.

“And what of Leibovith?” he asked seriously.

“He has been taken care of.”

“Wonderful,” he exclaimed, seeing the guilt in her eyes as a sign of truth. He pulled her down onto his lap and continued his discussion with his men. “So Conrad, today is your nephew’s big day. Are you happy?”

Meira kept an expression of polite inquiry knowing that her father only brought up Jonathan and Guinevere’s wedding just to gage her reaction. Meira and Jonathan had been like best friends before he asked for her lover’s hand. But she knew it was unfair to hate Jon for marrying Guinevere when all he was doing was saving her from a lifetime of servitude in one of Grindelwald’s harems. It was her fault they were in that position anyway. Never say no to Grindelwald. Meira did. She said no when he asked her to practice her Fiendfyre on a Muggle hospital. Grindelwald was angry. He made the decision to give Guinevere to his Soldiers for their harem, when Jon stepped in and said he would like to take her for his own. The rest was history as they say.

“I am. I never thought the boy would want to marry so soon, but when in love,” he sighed proudly. “His mother, however, she is another issue. She wants the boy to marry a normal witch.”

Meira inwardly cringed. Guinevere was born a Halfling. Her mother was a witch and her father was a vampire. By law, they were not allowed to marry. People were always wary of her because of it.

“What do you think, Meira?” Guthrie said as he had watched her expression throughout the conversation.

“Guinevere is a capable witch who has extreme control over her thirst. I wish them all of the happiness in the world, and I hope they have lots and lots of strong children.” If was a half-truth, but it was enough to convince them all. Except for Grindelwald.

“My men, we will meet again tomorrow morning. For now, leave us.”

The men bowed and left the office. “You are not really happy about this wedding, are you, daughter?” he whispered, pulling her back against his chest. His hands slipped under her robes to caress her breasts.

“No, it pains me that Guinevere is lost to me forever, but I want her safe and happy. Jon can give her that.”

“Indeed he can.” He set her on her feet and took her to their bedroom. “It’s time to change. We don’t want to be late on such a glorious day,” he taunted, taking pleasure in her silent misery.

Meira wanted to wear her modest periwinkle blue dress that set off her eyes just right, but Grindelwald had something else in mind. He chose a long black skirt with a tight, blood red corset.

“I think it would be prudent for young Guinevere to see what she can never again have,” he said, arrogantly inhaling his cigar as he watched her undress.

“Yes, father,” she answered.

She stood before the mirror, holding her curled hair off her shoulders as he tightened the strings of her corset, touching more of her skin than actually necessary. It was times like this that she missed her childhood, and the close relationship she had with her mother and grandmother. Being fourteen, some would say that she still was a child, but living under the same roof as Gellert Grindelwald made being a child impossible.

He transfigured the chain of her necklace to a black choker, letting his symbol rest proudly on top of her breasts. He wore plain dark robes. His blond hair was swept back. He looked more like her older brother rather than her father.

He Apparated them to Durmstrang where the wedding would take place. Meira steeled herself for the bows and looks of both terror and admiration from her classmates. It was one thing for them to knowthat she was Grindelwald’s daughter, but seeing them together was an entirely different matter.

“Good evening, Lord Grindelwald, Miss Grindelwald,” they would say, bowing lowly.

All guests formed two lines in the Hall where the ceremony would start and dropped to their knees as Grindelwald and Meira walked through, barely acknowledging them. There was a throne-like chair on a raised platform for Grindelwald to sit. No guest could rise until he was seated. Meira stood at his right hand while Guthrie and Conrad stood behind them.

The wedding commenced. It was a simple affair. Meira kept her eyes on the guests and her mind opened for any treachery lurking in their thoughts. It was more of a precautionary measure for her and for those she cared for. Personally, it mattered not if one of the guests had actually planned to serve her father a pheasant basted in cyanide.

Grindelwald learned of Meira’s telepathy when she was seven and asked him, in the middle of one of his meetings, why one of his friends wanted to assassinate him. Since then he made it his mission to exploit her abilities for his own means.

Disgustingly enough, she “overheard” one of Grindelwald’s men planning to request her as a boon for obliterating two pockets of resistance in the east last month. By doing so, he saved Durmstrang from facing an invasion and possibly saved many lives. Meira knew her father would never allow another man to touch her. Not because he loved her, but because Grindelwald refused to share her. That, and in his twisted mind, he longed to preserve a modicum of the innocence he had not already compromised.

Meira could sense Jonathan’s nerves. He was concerned his future bride might say or do something to annoy Grindelwald. Meira was pleased to see that he had shaven his seemingly permanent five o’clock shadow. His long black hair was trimmed neatly to the nape of his neck. He was having trouble restraining his need to fiddle nervously with his new robes.

The guests turned and watched the lovely Guinevere draped in white with a two-foot train behind her approach the altar. She took her place beside Jonathan and the priest began the ceremony. From a casual observance, it would seem that Meira was watching over the guests, when really, she was inside of Jonathan’s mind. Not reading his thoughts, she silenced them as easily as the volume of a Muggle television. She used her friend’s mind to gaze at her former lover.

Meira loved gazing into her brown eyes. They were so dark that at times, they looked black. Guinevere had long seal brown colored hair that fell to her breasts. Her skin was fair and as smooth as silk.

They were roommates at the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic—before Grindelwald pulled her out and shipped her off to Durmstrang—and quickly became friends. The first night Grindelwald took Meira, Guinevere was the person she told. She held her as she cried and kissed her softly the moment she awoke the following morning.

They told each other everything. Guinevere confided in her how her grandparents wanted her mother to marry a French diplomat and how she refused when she fell in love with Guinevere’s father, a vampire named Herrick, who had been bitten during the turn of the century. Meira shared with her, her knowledge of vampires, related to her from Ian. That was the day Meira learned that Ian was right when he explained that just as there were different races of humans, there were different races or species of vampires, all descendants of Lilith, the Mother of Vampires.

The first time Guinevere and Meira made love was the most beautiful night of Meira’s life. She even let Guinevere drink from her. Throughout the darkness and misery she endured when in Grindelwald’s presence, being with Guinevere made it all bearable. She could scarcely believe that they had combated fear and prejudice on both sides, just for it to end where they stood tonight.

“You may kiss your bride.”

Meira blinked, retreating from Jonathan’s mind as they kissed. Grindelwald stood, clapping boisterously and the guests followed suit. She couldn’t be too angry. Even though the marriage was mostly a business arrangement, Meira knew that Jonathan would never be cruel to Guinevere. How could he? He was already in love with her.

She had hoped that they would only stay long enough to see them married. She desperately wanted to leave and put the entire ordeal out of her mind, but nothing was ever that simple with Grindelwald. It was not enough for you to be tortured. He had to sell out a theater to the event.

“Why don’t you make a toast to the happy couple, princess?”

He had drawn the attention of everyone in the room. Meira smiled sweetly, plucked a wine goblet from the tray, and turned towards Jonathan and Guinevere who seemed even less thrilled about the toast than she was.

“The love you share with another person is stronger than anything else. It is stronger than fear, stronger than anger and pain, and it is even stronger than magic. Love is never easy, but when you find that one person, that one missing piece,” her eyes shifted from Guinevere to Jonathan. “You better hold on to them with everything you have, and more still when there’s nothing left.” She lifted her glass. “To Jonathan and Guinevere, may your lifetime fill with love, happiness, and peace.”

They applauded her toast and started to congratulate Jonathan and Guinevere.

“…her fault. If she had just left her alone, my daughter would not be forced to marry a man she doesn’t love…”

Artemisia, Guinevere’s mother, stared balefully at Meira from across the room. Her thoughts were just as sour as her expression. She could not really blame her for feeling that way. Things might actually be different if she had stuck with her original plan of not getting close to anyone at Beauxbatons. Since her mother’s death and the separation from her grandmother, Grindelwald kept a close eye on Meira and anyone he could use as leverage over her. When she met Guinevere, she was sloppy and got caught.

Grindelwald was across the Hall making small talk with one of the American dignitaries. She wanted nothing more than to drown herself in the nearest bottle of firewiskey until she was numb.

Meira avoided Guinevere the entire night for fear of losing her resolve and whisking the girl away for a life on the run. She could do it. Grindelwald probably would not stop her, but only because he was a predator that liked to play with his food first.

“…go to the balcony,” she heard Guinevere whisper in her mind.

Was she insane? One toe out of line and Grindelwald would slaughter them all. Meira was forced to commit all sorts of terrible acts that she would rather forget, just so he would allow Herrick to attend his own daughter’s wedding. Due to his un-admitted fear of vampires, Grindelwald had them hunted mercilessly. Those that were captured were publicly executed, while those that could escape fled to America.

Ignoring the nagging voice of caution, Meira stepped out onto the balcony. Guinevere was already standing there waiting for her. Her back was turned and she was gazing up at the bright, eclipsed moon.

“It looks better than a full moon, don’t you think?” she whispered in French. “It’s like having only a taste of the real thing.”

Meira moved closer to the girl, unable to ignore the sadness in her voice. “What’s wrong, Guin?”

“Everything, Meira! Everything is wrong!” she turned around fangs extended, her brown eyes suddenly a paler gray than even Meira’s were. “He danced with me tonight. Your father.”

“I saw him.” It sickened Meira to watch her father touch Guinevere being unable to prevent it.

“He said, ‘your father is the type of vampire impervious to sunlight, holy water, and silver.’” Meira had a bad feeling in her stomach as she listened to her best friend’s rant. “‘But I wonder, is he flame-retardant. It would be a shame to gain a husband and lose a father in the same week, dear girl. But if you send another letter to my daughter, you filthy half-breed, your papa will be ash in my smokestack!’”

Glistening tears stained her cheeks. Meira thumbed them away, biting back her own. “Guin, you must calm down.”

“How can I calm down, Meira? I know Jon cares for me and will keep me safe, but what of you? It won’t get any better and he won’t stop hurting you.”

“I know, but it’s the way my life is now.”

“But it doesn’t have to be,” she sniffled. “What about your uncle?”

Meira’s eyes grew as cold as a corpse. “My uncleis enjoying his life in Britain. He cares far too much for his job and reputation at the school to embrace Grindelwald’s chief interrogator.” And that was putting it mildly.

“No, you’re wrong. I have been in contact with him and—.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed, Guinevere?”

“There are worse things than dying.”

“Yes, I am living those worse things, and I refuse to let them happen to you. Leave Albus Dumbledore alone, Guin, please.”

“He says that if you can get away from him, he will take you in at his school and protect you.”

“Yes, because getting away is the easy part, right?” she scoffed.

“Meira, please. I agreed to marry Jon because you were worried about me. Now you need to worry about you. Get to Dumbledore.”

“What happens to you if I leave? What happens to your family? Did you even think of them?”

“My family is going underground.”

“What about Jon’s family? They are fierce supporters.”

Guinevere pressed her fingers over Meira’s lips. “Don’t worry about us. Just promise me you will get away from him.” She kissed her jaw, inhaling the scent of her throat. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Having Guinevere so close when she was out of reach was killing Meira. She was married now. Touching her in any way would be wrong. She tried to step back. Guinevere growled lowly pulling closer.

“Dammit.”

She melted in Guinevere’s arms, kissing her lover for the final time. Their bodies melded and it was as if there was no one there but them. Guinevere shuddered against her as she traced her fangs with her tongue. Her mouth tasted like chocolates. She pressed her tongue against her fangs, letting her bite one last time. She cherished the small pain knowing she would never feel it again.

Meira pulled back to see her own blood staining Guinevere’s cherry lips. “You should put those away. Wouldn’t want to frighten the guests.”

She retracted her fangs and her eyes were once again dark brown.

“I think someone has already frightened them for me.” Guinevere took her hands. “I have to get back inside. I don’t want anyone thinking I ran out on Jon. Be safe.”

She turned away and gazed up at the moon, unable to watch her walk out of her life. It’s the right thing to do, she told herself. Guinevere would be much better off without her in her life.

“Did you enjoy your lover tonight?” Grindelwald said, appearing almost out of nowhere.

“Father,” she gasped. “I was just saying goodbye.”

He leaned causally against the wall. His eyes were glassy and a bit unfocused. He was drunk and she did not have to read his mind to know that he was more than a little angry.

“Let’s go home.” He Apparated her back to their bedroom. She knew something bad would happen there. “I want to show you something.” He waved his wand and dozens of letters written in Guinevere’s handwriting appeared on the bed. “I threatened her life, and the lives of those she loves, yet she continued still to write you.”

“You had her letters all this time?” she whispered, her wand hand twitching slightly.

Grindelwald noticed the telltale sign of Meira’s shaky temper and chuckled. “Go ahead, princess. I am unarmed,” he said, holding up with hands. “Go for your wand and see if you can take your old man. Well, go on. This is the only chance you will ever get.”

All of the humiliation and degradation suffered at the hands of her father boiled inside of her. She flicked her wrist and summoned her wand, digging the tip under his chin.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Giving in to your hatred for me. It would be so simple for you to say those two little words. And it is not as though you have never used them before, princess. Do you remember how you cried when you watched the light fade from the little Muggle girl’s life?”

“Yes,” she said, holding her wand in a death grip. “And you said, ‘I should have warned you before, princess. The first time always hurts.’” And his Soldiers laughed because they knew; they knew exactly what he meant.

“I feel inclined to warn you, however, should you succeed in killing me, poor little Guinevere would pay the price. You have never seen how ten men can share one girl, have you?” he said, almost thoughtfully.

The words were at the tip of her tongue. Just two little words and it would all be over. But Meira could not let Guinevere be harmed because she could not cope. She lowered her wand and let it drop to the floor. Grindelwald swooped on her, kissing her mouth as if she was his lover and not his daughter. Angry tears filled her eyes and spilled over as he tore off her corset exposing her breasts. He slapped her hard and pushed her onto the bed on her stomach.

“That is the last time you will everraise a wand to me.”

She could hear him fumbling with his pants behind her. She shivered as he banished her remaining clothing. The bed sunk when he climbed on. He kicked her legs open and spat in his hand. God, she hated that sound. She squeezed her eyes shut, pretending she was safe back in Russia with her mother and grandmother as he forced himself through her clenched rosette, panting against her shoulder. The pain felt near blinding. She could feel the blood running down the back of her thighs.

When it was over, he rolled off her and poured a glass of firewiskey. “Go clean yourself up. I wish to sleep now.”

Hermione awoke that morning vomiting violently. Meira’s latest memories were too much for her to handle. What kind of monster could commit such a vile act against his flesh and blood? It was early when she awoke. The sun was just starting to rise and the other girls were still asleep. She recalled the horrible dream in her journal and decided she needed a nice long run before classes. She changed into black shorts and a black, sleeveless hoodie. She pulled her hood up and began her morning run.

“You’re being uncharacteristically silent this morning.”

I was under the impression that you prefer my silence when you run.

“Normally, yes, but since I no longer have an iPod, you have my undivided attention.”

I feel so honored, she snorted.So, Potions, Ancient Runes, DADA, and Arithmancy on the rotation today, eh?

“Yes, ma’am. I don’t know whose bright idea it was to have a Gryffindor-Slytherin class in the morning taught by Severus I-am-a-biased-prat-who-gets-his-jollies-by-taking-unnecessary-points Snape. I will bet you my last galleon he will find some ridiculous reason to take points off me today. I swear he gets wood for saying, ‘ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for being an insufferable know-it-all.’”

Hermione stopped running and caught her breath. As she talked with Meira, she absently began walking through the Forbidden Forest. She was in the middle of complaining about Dumbledore compounding to her and Harry’s troubles by allowing the Triwizard Tournament to be held at Hogwarts when hot breath blew on the back of her hand. She jumped back slightly, preparing to draw her wand when she realized what it was.

Aww, a Thestral foal. How cute!

The little foal cautiously approached Hermione, sniffing her hand. “I can’t believe these things have been here this entire time.” She petted the foal’s head carefully. It was surprisingly warm and smooth, not unlike leather. “How old were you when you saw death for the first time?”

Five.

“Five? Who was it?”

My mother.

̶

Hermione had a quick shower as she was running a little late due to her excursion in the Forbidden Forest. She let Ginny French braid her hair and tied a deep blue ribbon on the braid. They had a relatively quiet breakfast with the other Gryffindors, and the Golden Trio departed for Potions class.

They arrived early and stood outside the door waiting for Snape to let them enter. Ron would not stop talking about the tournament.

“Fred and George were up all night trying to figure out how they could enter.”

“But Mr. Crouch said they couldn’t,” Neville said.

“I don’t know, Nev. If anyone can get it done, it’s Fred and George,” Seamus said. He caught Hermione looking at him and smiled.

“What do you think, Harry?” Hermione said when she noticed her friend’s attention was elsewhere.

“I think Malfoy and his goons are planning something,” he said, lowly to avoid a scene. “And I want to know what the hell it is.”

Sure enough, Malfoy was huddled up with Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Zabini sending sneers in their direction.

Want to? You may as well…

Without waiting for her consent, Meira lowered the shield around Hermione’s mind and quickly zeroed in on Draco Malfoy’s thoughts.

“…mudblood get’s exactly what she deserves…”

Hermione delved deeper in Malfoy’s mind and was appalled by what she saw. He had her in an abandoned classroom with Crabbe and Goyle blocking the door. He was demanding that she suck him off. Every time she refused, he placed her under the Cruciatus Curse and stroked his hardened cock when she cried.

She narrowed her eyes and pulled out of his disgusting mind thinking of ways she could counteract his little plans.

“Doesn’t matter, Harry. He may be a prat, but he’s not stupid enough to try something.”

Harry’s emerald green eyes rounded on her incredulously. “He’s a Malfoy, Hermione. His arrogance circumvents his stupidity.”

Hermione giggled lightly. “Well, I’m inclined to agree with you on that one.”

“Quiet,” the slithering voice of Professor Snape carried over to them. The professor was a tall man, seemingly medium build, although, who could really tell underneath those layers and layers of black he wore day in and day out. He had very pale skin and long dark hair that was so shiny it gave off the appearance of being greasy. He flicked his wand and opened the door. “Ten points from Gryffindor for talking out of turn, Miss Granger.”

She smiled sweetly, not missing the way he was staring at her hair. She could tell he wanted to make a comment about it.

“Was there something else, professor?” she asked innocently.

“Wearing the wrong colors, aren’t we, Miss Granger?” he sneered lightly.

She fingered the ribbon in her hair and laughed lightly. “Why, thank you for noticing, sir.” And with that, she left both students and professor gaping after as she sauntered inside of the classroom.

Harry and Ron sat on either side of her stifling laughter. “That was brilliant, ‘Mione,” Ron whispered in her ear.

She suppressed her excited shudder at having him so close. When he was not stuffing his mouth with food, jumping to conclusions and being an all-around prat, she could actually enjoy his company. Snape stalked to the front of the classroom, deducting points from Gryffindor on his way, and began his lecture.

“With the upcoming Triwizard Tournament, it is imperative that the champions focus on their tasks should they meet a tragic end. However, any student chosen from Hogwarts apart of the House of Slytherin and Ravenclaw will regrettably be a dunderhead who will undoubtedly fail to make it past the first task,” he sighed, sweeping his eyes over the Gryffindor side of the room as the Slytherins sneered at them.

Five sickles it is a Wit-Sharpening Potion,Meira wagered.

“As such, we shall brew Wit-Sharpening Potions,” he said as Hermione felt a smug tremor from Meira. “Who here can tell me one of the three known ingredients?”

Hermione could feel the eyes of her two friends on her. They, along with the rest of the class, seemed to be awaiting her answer. Harry gave her a questioning look and Ron nudged her shoulder slightly.

“Dare I say it? The infallible Miss Granger you doesn’t know the answer?” Snape seemed close to smiling and she thought Neville might faint from the sight of it.

“I know the answer, professor,” she smiled. “I was simply giving someone else a chance to have a go.”

It took everything for the professor not to drop his jaw to his chest and gape like one of the dunderheads he claims to dislike so.

“Well, five points from Gryffindor for not answering the question, Miss Granger.”

She nodded amiably, but her expression bore polite indifference and that irritated Snape even more. Docking points and upsetting the insufferable little know-it-all was one of three primary pleasures he got out of teaching. The other two were terrorizing all Gryffindors, and incensing Potter.

“Well, are you going to answer the question, Miss Granger, or must I dock more points from you? As it stands, you are already fifteen points in the hole. What a wonderful way for you to begin your fourth year.”

Wow, he really has a hard-on for you, ‘Mi!

“Cut ginger roots,” she said simply. No extra anecdotes. No added ingredients. No date of origin. Just a simple straightforward answer. Hermione could tell from Snape’s lack of response that he was at a loss.

He flicked his wand at the board and the instructions appeared, but no one made a move. “Well, why aren’t you all preparing your stations?”

The students jumped as though a spark had been lit beneath their chairs. “What was that about, Hermione?” Harry whispered, following her to the storeroom closet.

“Nothing, Harry, the professor just enjoys getting a rise out of us and I refuse to play his little game for one second longer.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Since when do you give just an answer? Are you feeling alright?” he asked, pressing his hand to her forehead.

She truly loved her friend. She could see the worry in his eyes, even though his problems trumped hers.

“Harry, I am fine. I’m just so tired of being the overachiever and getting ridiculed for it. This year, I will do my assignments like everyone else. No more, no less. If the professors don’t like it, they can stuff it, for all I care.”

He opened his mouth to say more when Malfoy and his thugs sauntered inside the storeroom. “What do you know, boys? It looks as though the little Mudblood is not as smart as she wants everyone to think she is.”

“Oh, wow,” she said, dramatically, wiping the sneer off the blond bigot’s face. “Mudblood. Malfoy, you have such an extensive vocabulary of insults. How will we ever keep up?”

“You and I have unfinished business,” he said, moving closer to Hermione as Harry stepped in between them. “Saint Potter to the rescue again?” he jeered.

“Move aside, Harry,” she said, her arms folded across her chest.

“Hermione.”

“It’s okay. Malfoy clearly isn’t going to let our little squabble at the World Cup go any time soon, so let the little prat fire off his silo so we can move on to the next phase.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose as she stepped around him.

“I don’t know who you think you are, Mudblood, but no one insults my father and threaten me.”

“Oh, Malfoy,” she sighed. “I did not insult your father. Calling him a bootlicking worm would have been an insult, true, but an insult. No, I simply spoke the truth. And as for threatening you, if I want to remove your tongue,” she stepped a bit closer so she could whisper in his ear. “It shall be done.”

Ingredients in hand, Hermione took Harry’s arm and led him from the supply closet.
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His White Queen: A Prequel