the magpie // tomione

iii.

"Even a man who is pure in heart,

And says his prayers by night,

May become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms,

And the moon is full and bright."

— Curt Siodmak

When the world is no longer spinning, her stomach no longer churning, her ears no longer ringing, Hermione raises her head.

She gulps in a breath of fresh air, eyes scanning her surroundings. Country air.

This is not London, not where Marion had written about her flat. This is Lestrange Manor, in its decay and splendor. A proud and old manor house, with creeping ivy and plush lawns soft beneath her feet as she steps forward.

Again, panic thrums through her veins, pounding at her chest.

Her breathing is only slowed by remembering Marion's own words (her own sad, sad words): she had always been a stranger in her home. Misunderstood, ignored.

She can see her words reflected in the cold and dark eyes of Magnus Lestrange, Lord of the manor and heir to the name. Magnus Lestrange, Knight of Walpurgis, stands before her at the threshold. He doesn't ask any questions, appears to simply accept that she has returned after a year. He studies her warily, looking her up and down. (The look reminds her of her own—the way she appraises inventory items, categorizing them and checking their condition.

Perhaps that is all Marion is to her brother. An item belonging to the Lestrange family.)

Hermione glances around the parlour, meeting eyes with various Lestrange family portraits decorating the high walls. Magnus interrupts her gaze, clearing his throat.

"If you're looking for Mother, she's been sent to her family in Provence." He speaks carefully, and she nods, hoping it is the reaction he is looking for.

She doesn't forget the diary entry from when Marion was sixteen—her mother had caught her with Abraxas Malfoy at a Yule Ball. As punishment for her innocent teenage flirting Madam Lestrange had locked her in a cabinet and left her to claw her way out, throat raw, fingers bloody, and eyes damp with tears.

"I see." Hermione responds simply, fidgeting with her fingers until she notices the gesture and stops herself. It won't do her any good to show vulnerability. (This is a place where weakness cannot thrive.)

"I'm glad you're home." He tells her after a long pause, a small crew of house elves having descended on the parlor to serve tea. Hermione swallows back the discomfort as she graciously (but not too graciously) accepts the cup handed to her by thin and trembling fingers.

"Are you?" Her eyes are narrow as she sips at her tea. Marion left without telling anyone, disappeared for a year. How could Magnus be truly pleased to have her home, without any explanation?

"Is this about the betrothal?" He lets out a low sigh, leaning forward in his seat. "I never cared if you married him. Our family has no need to associate with theirs, much less be joined in union. Haven't you heard the news?"

Magnus lets out a stilted laugh. She tilts her head in confusion, but how could she not know?

Hermione remembers the disgusted face she pulled when she first learned about Sirius' parents after an offhand incest joke at dinner. Only now does she consider how little she actually knew. Orion Black will marry his first cousin Walburga, a strange sort of circumstance that Marion Lestrange could be counted as responsible for. A consequence to a series of fallen dominos, all set off by her mysterious decision to break off the engagement and leave to travel Europe.