The Witch That Time Forgave | Newtmione (2)

Chapter 7 | Home

¡THIS IS NOT MY STORY! The story was make by nyxblack on fanfiction.net.

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Oh, Harry. Melancholy fills Hermione's eyes as she examines the large manor, partially hidden by a canopy of trees behind the large, tightly shut iron wrought gates, which proudly display the Potter Family Crest.

Waves of emotions surge through her, hints occasionally flit across her face, alerting Newt to the inner turmoil she's experiencing. Dozens of questions run through her mind, countless 'what if's' and the desire to see her best friend, one last time — even if just to sate the curiosity plaguing her mind.

An audible sigh slips from her red-stained lips, pulling the light overcoat closer and tighter, shivering slightly in the gentle spring breeze.

"Is it your memories?" Newt asks; his warm breath caressing the edge of her ear in the most delicious of ways as he leans into her.

"No." Hermione straightens her back and squares her shoulders. A hard look entering her eyes, staring at the manor that's looming ahead. "I've never been here before." She confesses gravely.

Newt looks at her, startled and surprised.

"What?" he squeaks, "How? He was your best friend. The last of his line. Unless the manor was destroyed before his birth, this should have all been his." A pregnant pause fills the air between them, the wind howling as it rustles the leaves in the canopy of the ancient trees.

"I-I don't know," Hermione admits, brows furrowed in thought; irritation spiking down along her spine. "You're right. Of course, you're right-but- I honestly have no idea what happened to the manor in my time." The words tumble unbidden from her lips.

"He was a Potter, a well-known and respected Pureblood family that dates back to 13th century. They have dozens of estates and a moderately vast vault that's overflowing with gold. It seems highly unlikely that they managed to squander all of their riches and sold all of their estates, especially given Fleamont's recent success with his Sleakeazy hair potions." Newt gestures wildly in frustration.

Hermione knows he isn't genuinely frustrated with her, but rather the situation and the lack of information. That being said, she's also beginning to feel the frustration and anger.

"You seem quite well versed in Pureblood history." She bitterly snarks.

Ever since receiving the Potter's missive yesterday, she's been tensed in apprehension and anxiety that's steadily growing with each passing moment. However, Newt's poking and prodding were the final straw, pushing her over the edge.

"More to the point, the Potter family wasn't pure enough considering their exclusion from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The only wealth, either Harry or I were aware of was the stacks of gold stored within Vault 687."

Newt quirks his brow in response, ignoring her bitter tone because he understands that it is not directed at him.

"I am a Pureblood." He states with a frown on his lips. "Despite rejecting many traditional and prejudicial aspects of the ruling class, my brother and I were taught the history of our world and customs from birth."

Hermione flinches at his response, a sliver of guilt creeping along the edges of her thoughts.

"Well," Newt forces himself to sound cheery. "No matter, you're experiencing the history of your friend, first hand. The truth will be revealed soon enough. Did he manage to receive any of his family's heirlooms? A few of them are quite well known."

Hermione mumbles something under her breath, grinding the toe of her polished, black, closed toe shoes into the gravel below, eyes firmly on the ground.