Veal & Venison {Tomione || 1940s/1990s}

9|| Rook to D3

9|| Rook to D3

    If Hermione Granger had not already been as talented in magic and knowledgeable in spells, she would have been swamped in the work of the 1940s Seventh Year curriculum.  From the heinous amount of Defense essays to the practical (yet impractical) homework in Transfiguration, Hermione's year is nearly drowning in the pressures of their academics.  However, these hindrances do not impose the young time-traveller, greatly experienced in the defense against the dark arts, not due to class, and spells of all nature...nevermind the multiplicity of experiences and creatures she's been exposed to.

    That's why, instead of hunkering down in a fortress of parchments, quills, and tears, Hermione builds herself a castle of literature, books stacked around her with the topics of utter importance in the 1990s.  From horcruxes to legends, Hermione takes to them all with hurry, yet ease, letting the world spin around her and others come-and-go.  Nearing midnight, Clarence Nevarse has been gone for hours, likely to her dorm after patrolling.  And the other inhabitants of the knowledgeable haven left prior to that specific girl.

    Yes, Hermione Granger had been left to her books for some hours, the librarian playing ignorant to Hermione's lingering presence there, trusting the girl as much as she does Clary.  It's this factor that has provided Hermione the time and tools to continue her search for Voldemort's possible plans, receiving less-than-necessary amounts of sleep, yet knowing that the future depends on her.  With the stress and drive of her time, it comes as no surprise that Hermione is tired, yet unable to rest properly.

    When the clock hits ten to twelve, Hermione returns her books with the swiping of her wand and rushes at a brisk, yet comfortable, pace from the library.  Climbing higher and higher, the heroine warily watches the corners for patrolling prefects and professors, avoiding them easily when they do arrive.  It's a task that has come to be second nature, a quick path to the Room of Requirement where Abraxas waits.

    When the door swings open to the Knight meeting, Malfoy's eyes snap to hers with grey intensity.  And, finding that it is finally his friend and partner-in-crime, relief reflects through his face, only heightened as she comes to stand next to him.  Her eyes reflect no emotion at his presence, continually cold in this room of such potent evil yet never an expression Abraxas has seen from her.  And though he might not be as sharp as Hermione or Tom, the boy is smarter than the rest, taking his cue to erase the typical charisma.  His eyes, steeling over to the fitting grey color and cheeks smoothing to express no grin nor snarl, Malfoy feels like he is returning home, once again, with little light of salvation.

    The remaining five Knights (minus Rosier) dawdle into the room slowly and compactly, eying Hermione and Abraxas with shock for the mere fact that she succeeded in this task.  And though the white-haired boy has only a hint of suspicion to his purpose here, he almost laughs at the other Knight's expressions, though keeps it chilled under the cold mask of a Malfoy.

"Agree to everything he says," Hermione whispers into Abraxas's ear, not sending shivers across his skin simply because he is used to the hissing of his father.  "He'll test you: do whatever you consider to be cruelest.  Answer everything concisely and with 'my Lord.'  And if he tortures someone, don't flinch or show emotion."

"So, only a small task, right?" Abraxas quips, unable to help his humour and almost prompting Hermione to smile.

However, she turns back to ice, strange for her hidden fire, as the Dark Lord himself struts into the small gathering room, everyone standing at his attention.  And though it takes him a moment to see, given the other men blocking his sight, Tom catches upon the completion of Hermione's task: Abraxas Malfoy at his service.  Voldemort looks to Hermione with a victorious (not impressed) grin and the nod of his head, her head turning to reciprocate it, though with a firm expression of composure.