A Lamb to the Slaughter

White Hair, Odd Birthmark

Hermione knew it was late, and Pevensy would likely give her an earful for being in the library again, so she picked up her feet as she adjusted her stack of books in one hand and the candlestick in the other.

She had high hopes tonight. Not only did she find two new witches journals (one by a witch named Luna Lovegood and the other by one named Lavender Brown), but she had found a book on Alec's early history, and it's relationship with the outside world.

Hermione thought she heard the faint sprinkle of piano keys in the air, but even that couldn't stop her from getting into bed to read.

Hermione burst into her room. Pevensy was in the corner, holding up her jumper with a look of mild disgust on her face.

The books landed in a heap on the massive mattress. "Pevensy, I want to wear those tomorrow. No skirts or dresses."

She heard the elf groan. "Hermione, Pevensy hates mudblood clothes. No elegance, no charm..."

Hermione straightened. "What did you say? That word you used?"

Pevensy shrank back, as if she were surprised by her own words. "I is sorry if I offended Hermione! Pevensy and the Malfoy's don't mean it like the others do."

"Is it a slur? I've never heard that term before."

Pevensy played with one of her ears. "It can be. Mudblood is because humans not with the Six come from dirt, and go back to dirt, so they's blood is mud. But some houses like House Nott and House Black says it to be cruel. Not Pevensy though. Pevensy would never."

"I believe you," Hermione said softly. "We have a term some of my friends used for the Six like that. We called them Death Eaters."

Pevensy's eyes were wide. "Why?"

"Because they ate Death with every witch they killed, or at least that's the folklore on why they never die." Hermione sat up. "Do you know why they never die?"

Her ears flapped wildly as she shook her head. "Only they know, and they do not tell. Not even witches know."

Hermione deflated at that, but refused to let herself be completely discouraged. It was still her birthday, after all, and she had gotten a birthday present, eaten her favorite cake at dinner, and found new books that she was more than eager to read.

When she pictured her birthday three weeks ago, she imagined she'd be celebrating it in a cage, or perhaps a dungeon.

This place is still a cage, She tried to remind herself as she slipped into the bathroom. This isn't my home.

But while the ache of missing Ginny and her parents had not lessened, the comforts of the manor did ease her anxiety about her new life. It was hard to be tense when one sank into a claw foot tub filled to the brim with expensive oils and soaps.

Hermione finally climbed into bed after her bath, bidding Pevensy goodnight.

She pulled Lavender Brown's journal open.

JUNE

The Potters are kind to me. I fear them still, and wish to return to my brother and his wife, but their kindness is still a balm on my wounded soul.
They have warned me that my magic will be extracted tomorrow, at Castle Black. They tell me that the other families are not so kind, and that they will not be kind to me in their presence. I will have to learn the politics of the Six's if I wish to keep up.
L.B.

Hermione skimmed most of the journal. Lavender wrote about how the Potters had a beautiful creek behind their manor, and that they allowed her to swim in it when the weather grew too warm. She wrote about the pain of having her magic forcefully taken, and Hermione found comfort in the fact that not only had it felt the same way, but that she wasn't alone. Even if Lavender was now a ghost in Castle Black, she had felt the same feelings Hermione did. Feelings of confusion when the House that hosted them was kind, not cruel. Feelings of having the world ripped from underneath her. The loss of her family, and her identity.