Chapter Text
Hermione’s been doing a lot of reading, even by her own standards. She’d have called it light except some of the stuff she’d seen has been rather disturbing. But she had to find out about Flamel, didn’t she? The boys could not be trusted and she bet they’ve been playing Wizard’s Chess or something for the whole break instead of research.
So she went home for the break with a dozen or so books on ancient wizarding families, to have a look at their family trees. So far she hasn’t found a single mention of Flamel, which she didn’t like at all, but she was also learning a whole lot so frankly, she didn’t complain.
She actually started making a scrapbook of sorts with all the incredible witches and wizards she’d read up on so far. There were Merlin and Dumbledore, naturally, but she also kept finding references to a lot of extraordinary witches, like Morgan le Fay (she was dark, yeah, but she was still very accomplished), Ignatia Wildsmith, Rowena Ravenclaw of course… Why, right now she was reading a book on The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. They were a pretty scary lot but many of them were also renowned for their discoveries and accomplishments.
Even their latest generation (at the time of the book’s writing, which was some twenty years ago) seemed to live up to their name. One Bellatrix Black graduated with twelve Outstandings in her N.E.W.T.s (when most students took no more than six) and also published a paper on wand transfiguration while still at Hogwarts. Now that’s a role model, thought Hermione while copying her accomplishments into her scrapbook. She also wondered briefly at the small photograph of said witch throwing back a gorgeous mane of dark curls. She’d probably want to copy that, too.
Also, she’d have to find some newer information on the subject. She was really interested in what kind of life someone with twelve Outstandings would lead once she grew up. Probably something really great.
With a sigh, Hermione closed the book and opened the next one, some Magical Herbology Through The Ages. The search for Nicholas Flamel, whoever he was, had to continue.
~~~
When she returned to Hogwarts she hadn’t even had time to visit the library before Harry and Ron found her and proceeded to fill her in on their adventures. She didn’t even roll her eyes when they told her about sneaking out after curfew. She must have been getting used to this, and that was a bit disturbing. Even more disturbing was the fact that the boys actually found out who Flamel was all by themselves. That was probably a good sign, though.
While she immersed herself into studies and Flamel-related brainstorming, she also couldn’t help but wonder about the Mirror of Erised that the boys found on the winter break. It felt a bit unfair that she didn’t get to look at it. A lot has been going on in her life lately; first and foremost the whole “magic is real” thing, but also the influence of certain reckless boys that she couldn’t deny. She now didn’t as much as flinch when rule-breaking came up and her past self just from a year ago would definitely be affronted by this. She’d always pictured her future self as an accomplished scientist, maybe a writer of textbooks, and she was not exactly sure if this desire of hers was still true.
So, she wanted to check.
When she approached Harry privately, he seemed to understand at once what she was after. With a mischievous smile, he told her that while Dumbledore asked him not to seek out the Mirror after it’s been relocated, he never specifically said no one else should. Also, his nighttime explorations might have earned him some pointers on the Mirror’s current location (probably in another wing of abandoned classrooms) that he just so happened to notice. Oh, and Hermione totally could borrow his Invisibility Cloak for a night if she felt like it.
This was how Hermione ended up in an unused Hogwarts wing at night, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak and frowning at herself. Her mental dispute on whether her behaviour was acceptable and whether it was acceptable that she thought her behaviour acceptable was ended when she opened a classroom’s door and saw that she had found her destination. The Mirror stood there, covered with cloth and rather imposing. She closed the door behind her, took a deep breath, and resolutely pulled the cloth down.
She was sitting in an airy study behind a desk covered with neat stacks of books and scrolls. She was writing with a fountain pen (thank god), no doubt creating something really complex and important. On the wall behind her hung various certificates and plaques, listing her achievements. A clipping titled “The Brightest Witch of The Generation” hung there too, for some reason in two copies, as did a record of her own twelve Outstanding N.E.W.T.s. There was a cat purring on the windowsill.
So far, so good.
Another pile of papers, probably tax notices, were pinned in place on a coffee table with a… dagger?
Something was off.
The dagger was black, slick and sharp-looking. Now that she thought of it, there were several more daggers about, pinning stacks of papers, sticking from bookshelf sides, even used as makeshift darts with some complex diagram on the wall as a dartboard. Some of the books in the stacks were decidedly dark-looking, one of them was moving and it had teeth. Her own self didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.
Now that she took a closer look, the two clippings on the wall weren’t identical. One was her own for sure, but on the other, the photo was not like Hermione at all. The witch on it possessed a mass of black curls that Hermione had seen somewhere already…
The cat on the windowsill lifted its ear, startled by some sound she couldn’t hear, and into the view came Bellatrix Black.
What?
She was older, Hermione’s age in the mirror, which was around twenty-five probably, but this was unmistakably the witch from the book she read on the winter break. She wore all black, a dress with a corset and high-heeled boots, and she looked… Stunning, really. With a swift motion, she hurled another dagger at the makeshift dartboard, and it landed right in the middle. Hermione on the classroom’s floor flinched. Hermione in the mirror didn’t.
The dark-clad witch approached Hermione, petting the cat absent-mindedly on her way, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. She then seated herself next to the girl and wrapped an arm around her, her curls brushing the mirror Hermione’s cheek. The latter seemed completely at ease with what was happening and turned her head to gently kiss Bellatrix’s ear, then returned to her writing. Bellatrix appeared to read through the paper before her, then elbowed Hermione in the side and pointed something out. A mistake, maybe? The two proceeded to have a heated discussion about the subject which ended in Hermione sighing theatrically and crossing something out on the page. Bellatrix petted her head with a triumphant grin.
Hermione was sure she now really knew what “dumbfounded” meant. Her jaw kept moving as if some words were trying to find a way outside but she wasn’t sure what they would be: her brain was right now devoid of coherent thought, desperately trying to process what she’d just seen.
‘Looks like I like girls, eh?..’
A rational observation. Okay. She could work with that. Now that she thought about it, it even rang true. Her interest in extraordinary witches felt deeper than casual admiration. She could dwell on that later, though; right now, she had more to process.
Okay, so, it didn’t sound so bad. Sexuality revelations aside, she still wanted to be some kind of scientist or writer, renowned and accomplished. To have someone at her side who cared for her and was intelligent enough to discuss things she worked on. Who she could be proud of in turn. This sounded… really nice, actually.
And Bellatrix Black, with her transfiguration paper and perfect Hogwarts record, seemed like a good candidate for her imagination to latch on to when creating a would-be… spouse? Even though she seemed a bit… unhinged to Hermione on the photo she saw. This was probably where the daggers came from. Would she really be at ease with such a personality? She’d have to dwell more on that, too.
Meanwhile, another argument in the mirror took an unexpected turn. Instead of raising their voices, the women seemed to think it a good idea to turn their spat into a kiss, which was becoming… rather heated. But when the dark witch’s hands started travelling down the other girl’s body, partly concealed by the desk, the latter extracted herself from the embrace. She shook her finger and mouthed, unmistakably, “Bella, no”. For some reason, this was what made Hermione blush harder than anything before that. Bellatrix pouted rather adorably, and Hermione’s expression softened. She added what appeared to be “Not now”. At Bella’s—Bellatrix’s—questioning look she pointed to the mirror’s surface, right at the real Hermione sitting in front of it.
Her gaze locked with the one of her mirror counterpart’s and for a while, they were just staring at each other, the younger Hermione’s eyes filled with worry, incredulity and just a bit of anticipation; the older one’s full of care and promise. Then her mirror self’s eyes narrowed, and she smirked.
The mirror grew dark.