Chapter 1: Weary of the Fear
Chapter Text
“So you feel like you’re right on the brink.
Oh, you’re in the battle alone,
And life’s punched a hole in your soul.
Yeah, you’ve been brought to your knees.
But there’s better days up ahead.
You’ll be back on your feet again,
And you’re gonna be ok.
Oh, the darkest night will find a day…”
“Somehow You Do, by Reba”
Hermione Granger’s heart was pounding as she tossed a furtive glance over her shoulder. The smell of Knockturn Alley was almost as thick as the fog that was settled over the… early morning? Was it morning already? The sunlight was breaking feebly through the horizon, what little of it was visible, and the inky blackness of night had indeed turned a drab optimistic gray. Had they truly been running through the night?
It had started with a trail of dead - or a fortunate few of almost dead that had been saved - bodies of fighters for the side of the light. And a few on the opposite side leading to even more fear, panic and confusion among the already war weary public. Most victims Hermione hadn’t known intimately, a few she had. They had almost lost Luna but she was recovering now in an undisclosed location in the care of Neville and her father.
Everyone had known the end of the war would not signify an immediate end to the hate, violence, fear and chaos. There were Death Eaters to find, sympathizers to track down, bewitched, imperiused victims to flush out and treat, willful saboteurs to expose in every seat of control and power in the wizarding world… They’d known those desperate horror filled hours of the Battle of Hogwarts just a few weeks earlier wasn’t the final fight.
She couldn’t have guessed it was going to be this bad.
She looked around but was too afraid to call out. Somehow in the last firefight she’d become separated from Ron, Harry and Ginny. Oh gods above, Ginny. The last she’d seen before the blinding light of some kind of decoy and the disorientation of a confundus wrecked her was Ginny being blasted back by a curse, Harry and Ron momentarily distracted by the blood pouring from the side of Ginny’s head. Gods, please let her be alright…
Opening her eyes in an unfamiliar stretch of road, she’d climbed to her feet and dusted herself off, holding her wand tightly as she tried to gather her bearings. She had walked quickly but silently and eventually came to familiar territory and realized she was in Diagon Alley. No one was about, and some buildings were still crumbling and smoking. She didn’t know who was here or quite how she’d gotten here but she needed to find cover quickly and then try and find the others. If not Ron, Harry and Ginny, then anyone else of their Order.
But then she had heard the screaming…
“No! Noo! Please! I didn’t help them I swear!! PLEASE!”
She had followed the sounds of the screaming and pleading into the thick of Knockturn before she’d even realized she had. It was probably a foolish decision, she was alone after all. But she couldn't walk away…
“Help! Please! Someone!!”
Deeper and deeper into Knockturn Alley, past Borgin and Burkes, past any recognizable landmark where the rising sun couldn’t easily penetrate the buildings, she ran. It wasn’t long before she heard jeering, muffled shrieks and the scuffle of multiple people and as she rounded a corner the horrifying screams gave way to images. Hermione shrank back around the corner to better assess the layout. Pansy Parkinson of all people being pushed between the hulking Gregory Goyle and leering Marcus Flint as several others stood around them. Someone Hermione didn’t recognize from here held her wand in their hand and snapped it in pieces, throwing it with a bitter laugh at her feet as Flint held her back to his chest tightly, his fingers bruising around her wrists as she looked up in fear.
“You won’t be needing that anymore, anyone who’d help a blood traitor isn’t fit to hold a wand anyway.”
Pansy looked exhausted. Gone was the usual haughtiness, her impudent sneers, her pinched, but pristine face and immaculate hair now streaked with dirt and disheveled from abuse, and terror widened her eyes. “I… I didn’t help anyone do anything! She…she was my friend, I only helped her escape! I only wanted her safe!”
Goyle stepped forward and grabbed her chin brutally. “We’re going to find her. We’re going to find all of them. And anyone who so much as passed them a hankie.”
Pansy shook her head weakly as the others closed in brandishing their wands.
“Hold her down!” Goyle thundered at Flint, who grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her down on the mud slicked ground. “Who gets to do it this time?!”
Someone in a gray hooded sweater pulled over his face moved forward with a snort. “Me. I’ll try not to enjoy it too much.”
Goyle moved beside Flint to hold Pansy as she began to flail and fight, Goyle’s large hand coming over her mouth to silence her screams of fury and terror. The other one in the sweater moved forward, replacing his wand with a thin, bladed knife and reaching for his belt and Hermione realized with a sick twisting dread that the gang intended to savage her before killing her…
Rage, hot and twisting, drowned out fear and reason and Hermione raised her wand. She cast a disillusionment charm, ducking quietly behind a stack of wooden boxes and with a silent fling of her arm sent a stinging hex straight into the wizard’s freshly exposed genitals…
He howled in pain, springing back and doubling over in agony, panting as the others whirled about to try and find the source of the attack. But Hermione wasted no time, sending another hex and a stupefy in Goyle and Flint’s direction. Pansy scrambled backwards on the ground as she was released, tears streaming down her soot dusted face, seemingly stunned.
“Pansy, just run!” Hermione screamed, moving towards a bench outside an ale house to take cover behind. “Run!”
Pansy shot to her feet, galvanized to action, and spun out of the groping reach of another of the degenerates, running and screaming for help.
“Forget her!” someone shouted, and Hermione thought she recognized the voice as some goon from the former Inquisitorial Squad. “No one’s going to hear her that cares anyway!”
“Aargh, I know that voice.” Goyle said, grunting as he rose to his feet. “It's that swotty mudblood bitch, Granger!”
Hermione had taken the few seconds afforded her to build up her shields, letting them shimmer and swirl around her in a force of protection just as a finite incantatem came at her from the side, blowing her disillusionment, but she remained protected from the hex. She lobbed her attack at the familiar one who seemed to be calling the shots, rewarded with a sputter of rage but he managed to block most of it, stumbling but remaining standing and lobbing it back at her and she felt her shield shake…
She had counted 7 enemies, and her mind whirled a thousand frames a second trying to decide how to simultaneously attack and defend against them all. She thought quickly, struggling to detach herself from the fear and rage and adrenaline and plan out her attacks, weaving them together with defensive spells. She spun, jabbed, arced and slashed her way through every spell, counter curse and combination attack she could think of. But it was no surprise they knew darker spells and though her shields held, a few broke through, leaving her sore and winded. Any physical cover she could gain was slowly chipped away, raining showers of wooden splinters, glass shards and twisted length of metal around her.
A spell she threw collided with someone else’s and there was a brief blast of bright and colorful light. She took the chance to move again, ducking behind a banister on a storefront staircase and disillusioned herself again.
“Where’d she go?” Goyle demanded thickly.
Hermione took a cleansing breath and tried to apparate, cursing inwardly as she felt the warning pull of resistance. She looked around at the shifting gang glancing furtively about them. One of them was holding an anti-apparition jinx, if she could discover which one and eliminate them, she could get out of this.
“Come out, come out, come out, little mudblood!” a female she couldn’t immediately place by sound called out, “It’s no fun hiding like a common kitchen rat!”
It wasn’t her, she was flourishing her wand too much to be thinking of a complicated spell, and she doubted any of them had Dumbledore levels of focus to hold such a jinx while dueling. And Goyle was observably just way too stupid…
Hermione quickly wove together a few spells and amplified her voice so it couldn’t be determined where it was coming from.
“A woman?! Really?!” Hermione spat. “A woman and you could’t find a shred of revulsion that they were about to rape her?!”
The witch scoffed. “It’s not like she’s one of us. Not anymore, after she aligned herself with the likes of you.” Millicent! That was the voice, Millicent Bulstrode, of course.
“And how's that?!” Hermione demanded. “Who was the friend she helped that made her deserve what you were going to do?!”
“Someone less than loyal to the cause.” Flint jeered.
“Oh please.” Hermione said, looking around at the rag tag assemblage for clues. “Listen to you. Talking like big bad Death Eaters, ‘loyal to the cause,’ and all that hippogriff shit. When all you really are is the spawn of worse specimens that couldn’t quite cut it!”
Another unfamiliar face, square jawed and whitish short cropped hair shot a curse out wildly at a crate on the opposite side of the street.
“You stupid jumped up slut.” an unpleasant, lanky wizard she recognized as Pike ground out. “None of it matters, we lose everything too--”
“Aww.” Hermione mocked. “Afraid your allowances are going to dry up with daddy in prison? Now you’re just a roving, angry band of misfits, lashing out at anything and everything that displeases your tender, low IQ sensibilities? Those bodies are your handiwork, aren’t they?”
Goyle snorted and began to speak, but the other one - the shot caller - growled at him. “Shut up idiot, don’t give her anything to pass on to her little friends.”
Him. Hermione realized. Unlike the rest he wasn’t turning about this way and that, looking for a place to attack, but holding his wand perfectly still, a look of concentration on his face. He was the best gamble for the anti-apparition jinx. She took the chance and sent as forceful and as brutal of a blasting hex as she could, sending the “man” spiraling backwards through the air.
But the shimmer of movement gave her away, and three separate and vastly different curses slammed into her at once, knocking her back as she only managed to defend against one. She shot to her feet again, returning fire but she found herself the recipient of all 7 attacks at once and Hermione knew she was in trouble…
She fought with everything she had, but what remained of her shields was blasted off piece by piece as they attacked her with surprisingly singular focus. She tried to strengthen her shields as she sent attacks back at them, but no one could duel forever, not even Hermione Granger, and not against so many at once, and though she couldn’t be sure how much time had passed and how long she had been stuck in this terrible exchange of magical fire, she felt herself exhausting... Just as her shields finally gave way entirely, Millicent shouted with pure malevolent hatred, “Crucio!”
Hermione collapsed in a torrent of pain, white light flashing in her eyes, blood pulsing in her ears. Not so distant memories of Bellatrix flashed broken and fragmented in her mind, teeth, blades, curses and agony. Every nerve burned, every pore in her skin alighted with fire, her throat quickly became raw from the force of her screams. They knew where she was now.
Ohh, that had gone wrong so, so fast.
And for a brief selfish moment, she cursed her inability to walk away, her foolish decision to intervene alone, and then all thought ceased as two more curses hit her already pain wracked body. She writhed and jerked where she lay on the ground as the already indescribable pain sharpened and her vision tinged red. She felt as if she were being flayed alive, burned from the inside out, and she wasn’t even sure if she was screaming anymore as all three crucios converged into one coagulated mess of torment…
Suddenly it stopped… She heard the scuffle of running footsteps, and jeering whoops of victory grew closer but Hermione couldn’t force her body into motion. She felt her wand in her hand but it may as well have been a useless twig for all she was able to do with it, barely flexing her fingers around the handle before someone grabbed her by the hair and wrenched her upward painfully and she felt her scalp burning and hair tearing from it with the force as she was hauled against the lunk of ham that was Gregory Goyle as someone else yanked her wand from her hand.
“Muh best friend is dead because of you.” he hissed.
Hermione felt sweat, blood and tears on her face and body. It was stupid. So stupid. To provoke one’s captors when so horribly outnumbered. But she was done for anyway, fated to be another body in the tragically long line of victims, and she wasn't about to go out begging or pleading.
“Crabbe’s dead because he was too stupid to pay attention in class!” she spat, her body shaking and twitching with the after effects of the curses. "Couldn't put out a fire with a literal instruction manual on it!"
Goyle growled in hatred and anger and dragged her by her hair down the short steps and into the street where he threw her down on the ground by her neck, her head striking a cobblestone forcefully. Blood spurted against the filth and she groaned in pain as she tried to sit up.
“Cowards!” she choked, “Cowards you could never take on half a witch or wizard in a fair duel, so you have to rove in this ridiculous, pathetic pack like animals!”
She was struggling to orient herself, to control the spasms in her body and force her limbs to cooperate. But she summoned every scrap of strength she could find and drove her fist up and back into whoever was kneeling to try and hold her down, and then made a desperate lunge for her wand, feeling somehow defiled seeing it Millicent’s hand, but the lanky one, Pike lashed out and kicked her hard in the side of the head as Millicent jerked it higher out of her reach tauntingly. She screamed as she fell back, pain exploding in her head. She felt teeth loosen, and bones crunch and her stomach churned from the pouring of blood down her temple and into her mouth.
“Pathetic?” One of the other boys - the white haired one - sneered. “We’re pathetic?! Look at you! Little Miss Hermione Granger, the know it all mudblood! With your books and your smug self righteous holier than thou swottiness! Ten points to Gryffindor! Ten points to Gryffindor! The brightest witch of her age!” he waved his hands, speaking in a shrill mocking voice, the others howling with laughter. Then he reached over and took her wand from Millicent and waved it in her face. “But what are you without this?! Nothing!”
Hermione struggled to raise her now bruised and battered head, searing pain shooting through her jaw as she tried to speak. “S-same… as… y-you…” she choked. “You pathetic, magically dependent bigots!”
His face could have been handsome were it not twisted in a foul leering grin, his features darkened with unpleasantness as he shook his head. “You think so?”
Hermione choked, wincing silently in pain as he gripped her throat, squeezing and crushing. She fought but it was useless. Her body was too exhausted, even her desperation wasn’t enough to extract her from this, but she fought on regardless. She kicked and arched and struggled, clawing at his arms fruitlessly, and she felt a horrible pressure in her lungs and face and just before she thought she would pass out, he released her.
She collapsed back against the filthy ground, gasping for air. But her reprieve was momentary before it became an aggressive free for all. Hermione had suffered many things - from the taunting of schoolyard bullies, and her hair dipped in inkwells, cruel spells, to brutal battles, to the horrific and seemingly endless torture of Bellatrix. But nothing had ever felt and tasted like being beaten. Though curses came, stinging, slicing, blunt blows, they were few, her tormentors choosing to display their physical hold over her weakened and slighter frame. Coherent thoughts were few and far between but what little she managed was self deprecating. Somehow it felt worse than what Bellatrix had done. She had never felt more weak, more helpless, more out of control than she did in this moment, humiliation adding to the pain.
She was kicked. Hit. Cut. Bludgeoned. Each blunt strike, and sharp jab abused already weary flesh, mingling with the carelessly tossed hexes and curses, until she wasn’t sure where she ended and pain began. Her body sank into the cobblestone street, becoming part of it as she gave up fighting and only desperately prayed it would end… Someone hit her with a bottle and glass shattered across her face and she cried out in hopeless agony, her vision blurring into broken bloody fragments of light and blinding pain.
But then there was a new feeling. A sensation. Something hot and searing but not from the outside, it was welling up in the center of her chest, choking her, sending her already stressed and hammering heart rate through the roof. The fire crackled across her fingertips and she felt it traveling in zapping, blistering arches.
Someone shouted but she heard nothing, the pain inflicted on her and the pain emanating from her melded together and drowned all else out. She screamed her head thrown back as something seemed to tear from her very being and flew outward, and all she was, was light and wind and she heard the screams of others as they were thrown aside…
Her logical mind might have informed her under better circumstances that it was simply an involuntary magical outburst. But her mind was too weary, her body too raw, and all she knew was the blessed relief of a breath taken unobstructed, and silence. How long she laid in that quivering bloodied heap that used to be called Hermione Granger, she had no idea. She couldn’t see. Could feel nothing but the pulsing and cringing of her own nerves as her body twitched and jerked, the scrape of stone under her cheek. Hear nothing but broken sounds barely audible beneath the pounding of blood in her ears.
No, time ceased. She couldn’t count the moments she spent staring blankly at the same gouge in the same cobblestone, tears and blood running in rivulets down her cheeks and pooling beneath her. Perhaps she’d die there. But then her silent, pained monotony was displaced as a shadow moved into her view. A single shadow, breaking up what little sunlight had now managed to break through to her place there on the ground.
“No. I don’t think it's her. Look over there.” the quiet but harsh, gruff voice of a man spoke to someone she couldn’t see or hear.
She could see nothing save the form of a man in black robes and a hood, and she saw very little of his face, broken as her vision was. Firm hands turned her over from her side to better look at her and she bit her lip hard to try and keep from crying out but the pain was too much and she screamed. Tears streamed from her swollen, bloody eyes and she thought the figure drew their wand and fear licked through her.
“N-no. No. Pl-please.” she begged, hating at once how shameful and pitiful the first plea that had broken passed her lips here sounded. “Pl-please. D-don’t.”
The man drew back in surprise. But then after a pause, there was a wave of a wand - or she thought there was. A blessed coolness numbed her, beginning first at her face, and traveling down through her limbs and torso until she felt nothing but the odd prickling of whatever charm he’d used cooling and soothing her injuries. A sob rose in her raw throat as her tears of pain and fear turned to tears of near orgasmic relief.
“I am not here to harm you.” the man said simply.
Her brow furrowed as she squinted up uselessly at the figure. Something nagged at her memory, pulling her toward some vague recollection. The voice that came out of the shadows was gruff and hushed, as if trying hard not to be heard. But there was some oddly familiar tenor to the voice, as if she should recognize it if he would speak louder, or if she could hear him better. But her aching head wouldn’t allow her to process the thought and she could only blink in weariness. Her already compromised sight bled in and out of inky blackness to fractured kaleidoscopes of light and color.
“We can’t stay here,” he added quietly and sternly. “More are coming.”
Angry shouts were heard in the distance and then she felt a gentle hand against her wrist, checking her pulse, and then briefly against her face and she was suddenly being lifted into a pair of strong arms, and carried from Knockturn Alley, held tightly as she collapsed into his chest as the unconsciousness from exhaustion and blood loss swallowed her whole.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first thought Hermione could identify having as she crawled slowly towards wakefulness, was that she felt very very heavy.
It was as if she were a butterfly caught in a glue trap, or a small woodland creature sinking in a tar pit. Every limb felt weighted down as if she were shackled but she felt no bindings on her wrists or ankles. She tried to open her eyes, but immediately found it impossible. She tried to call out, to find someone - anyone - in the black nothingness, but found her lips unmoving, as if her jaw was wired shut. She was warm though, and somewhere in the ringing in her ears she thought she heard a fire crackling but there was apparently a bit of a commotion that had woken her...
An entirely unfamiliar feminine voice broke the air in a furtive hiss. “And you brought her here?! Could you have found nowhere for her to go?!”
“There was no time.” the same man’s voice from the alley replied simply. “She was dying. She had lost too much blood for me to be battling my way through London. The portkey here was dangerous enough, to try and apparate with her would have killed her...”
“If she says something to someone, we die. Every last one of us. Can you live with that?”
“I could not live with leaving her there.” he said flatly.
A soft resigned breath was blown out. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” she felt the man touch her face and then a cool cloth was draped across her forehead. “Except summon our… particular guest. I did not wish to disturb him but this can’t be helped and I will need his assistance. Tell him who she is and he will no doubt forgive the intrusion. Tell the others. Make no contact and use no names. I will not turn her out, but her presence here is an admitted risk we must manage.”
Gods, there was something about his voice. But he was deliberately disguising it, she realized that now. If she could only place it...
“I’ll tell them.” she said. A swish of the fabric of gowns or robes, and the soft click of heels on wood flooring fading further away.
Where was she? Who were these people? Suddenly the relief of being taken from the alley gave way to a fresh bite of fear and she struggled to force her motionless limbs into service, a whimper breaking from her dry cracked lips.
A pair of hands laid gently on her shoulders and stilled her. “Shh. Be still. You are safe.”
Well. She really only had his word on that but she did not feel threatened. At least not at the moment. She forced herself to slow her breathing and focus on moving her lips.
“E-Eye. Eyes.” she whispered hoarsely, barely audible and her throat seized at the usage. “B-blind.”
“No.” the man said gently. “No, you will not be blind. Your eyes are only injured and bandaged.”
Hermione winced as she swallowed, and felt like shards of glass were embedded on her tongue rather than her eyes. “C-can’t… move.”
The man touched her hand in a bracing gesture. His skin was warm and smooth but not soft. Rough but not calloused. It was all the situational awareness she could manage and she left her silent inquiry there…
“You were - are- in severe pain. We had to dose you heavily with pain potions. There is much to do but pain potions will not dull it all. We must put you to sleep. I’m going to give you a draught of Living Death.”
That initial fear returned and she flinched away from him but he took her hand firmly. “Hermione, listen to me. You do not want to be aware and awake for this. You are safe. And you will be well. Will you let us help you?”
Her brain processed what little information she had gathered and she found she had very few options available to her. She was badly injured, and she needed help… Whoever he was, he either meant to help her, or he meant to kill her, and at this point she couldn’t summon the energy to be terribly choosy about which release he granted her...
Hermione nodded as best as she was able and there was a brief sound of movement before the cool glass of a vial touched her bottom lip. She hesitated and then took the draft feeling the effects slowly begin to seep across her body.
She heard him speak again. “Don’t be afraid… Please… Don’t be afraid.”
The last thing she remembered managing to think through her pain and drug addled mind was that he spoke with the tired, defeated tenor of a man who was very much weary of fear…
Chapter 2: An Attack of Concience
Summary:
Hermione wakes up in unfamiliar surroundings.
Notes:
Thanks so much for all the enthusiasm! I’m glad this concept has intrigued you!!
Chapter Text
“There's no way out of this dark place.
No hope, no future.
I know I can't be free.
But I can't see another way.
I can't face another day.”
“No Way Out”, Phil Collins
Time moved at a crawl, marked halfheartedly by the number of instances she awoke from her stupor. But even that wasn’t a guaranteed measurement of time. For all she knew, she awoke three dozen times before remembering one, and the times she did remember, she was as disoriented and confused as before.
The first time she remembered waking, she felt a strange floating sensation. Perhaps it was the draught of living death wearing off that the hooded wizard had given her. But with that potion weakening, she was faced with new challenges - restless sleep plagued her, fits of fever woke her, night terrors stirred her into startled spasms, waking her into a body that couldn’t move and lips that couldn’t scream. But somehow, whatever it was distressing her in the moment, there was a strong hand and a soothing voice easing her back to sleep, cold cloths cooling each fever, an easy touch so different from the cruelty in her memories and nightmares, readily banishing each dream. She was given dreamless sleep as often as she could have it, and pain potions dulled most of her discomfort. But magic had its limits and in one delirious moment that she wasn’t entirely sure was real, nearly driven mad from exhaustion and pain as she waited for the newest round to take effect, she thought she recalled a man holding her silently against his chest, letting her sob and cry and plead for the aching to end, babbling incoherently into his shirt.
She woke for mere moments at a time, strange things happening in that dreamlike place between sleep and awake. Her confused mind began assembling strange thoughts and images to make sense of her surroundings, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. More than once she awoke thinking she heard a baby crying or a child laughing. She’d lift her head wearily, listening for the sound again but it was gone, leaving her to think she’d imagined it altogether.
Another time she could have sworn that the someone speaking to her unknown caretaker was her very dead potions professor. “This potion, as often as she wakes, or every 4 hours, whichever is longest. If the fever returns, summon me at once.”
She was in more trouble than she thought if her mind was conjuring up the late Professor Snape.
Other times she heard strings of conversation in hushed French, felt a softer woman’s touch on her body, and new charms and potions. Or broken muted conversations like the one she heard now…
It had startled her awake, she was sure, for it was so unlike the presence she’d become accustomed to in the small, black nothing of her environment when he spoke. She knew very little of the man who had appeared to take her away from the alley, obviously. But thus far the few times he did speak, it had been quiet, stern but gentle, and nonthreatening. But this time when he spoke to the other person in the room, he sounded angry, cold and impatient…
“Don’t use my name!” he hissed angrily. “She cannot know.”
“This was foolish! She can’t be trusted!” a woman, different from the one who had been here before.
“You know why she cannot go to St. Mungoes.” the man said wearily. “Or anywhere else for that matter. She’ll be killed.”
“Then you should have left her and let fate work itself out. You barely know her, you owe her nothing.” the woman argued.
“Don’t I?” he responded harshly.
There was a very long pause, such that Hermione thought she’d simply blacked out again and that would be the end of that particular memory. But then the woman spoke again confirming to Hermione she was still awake.
“You’ve never been one to let an attack of conscience outmaneuver strategy and reason.” she snapped.
“Perhaps that's been the problem.” he bit back.
“I still think you need to take her somewhere and leave her on the doorstep.”
The wizard scoffed. “She is hardly a stray cat to put in a box. We are no longer married, making what you think irrelevant. I’ve made my decision. She stays.”
There wasn’t much to be said to that, and Hermione heard the woman leave the room. Hermione tiredly thought she was alone but then she heard the slightly heavier footfall of the man and he evidently sat beside her bed. She could hear well enough but move very little, but she heard a tired, defeated breath from the wizard. “May the gods forgive me.” he muttered. Then his hand moved to grip hers and he seemed to turn his prayer to her. “Please forgive me…”
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When Hermione next awoke she felt quite different. She felt groggy and sore, feeling more pain than she usually did in moments of wakefulness. She could think straight - or at least more coherently. Her memories and surroundings came into focus bits at a time, and events came back forcefully all at once. The murder victims. The firefight. Ginny. Pansy. Attacked in Knockturn… Attacked…
But with a clearer mind and those memories came the fear and her heart began to pound painfully in her breast. She groped blindly, finding soft bed sheets but no wand. Of course, stupid! It had been ripped from her hand after the intense triple cruciatus curse. What to do--
But she felt hands grip her shoulders and still her, forcing her gently back against the pillows on her bed. “You must rest.” that same quiet voice from before admonished her. “I don’t know if you remember... But you’ve been injured very badly.”
A hundred questions raced through her mind but she couldn’t seem to make her lips form any of the words. In fact, very little of her seemed eager to cooperate with her will.
“Here.” he said as she struggled to speak. There was a soft clink of china and she felt the brush of a warm cup across her bottom lip. “A weak tea.”
The smell of a watered down black tea warmed her nose as the man’s hand slipped behind her head and she felt it pressed cautiously to her lips. She drank, letting the man support her tired neck and the liquid soothed her rough, dry throat. She took a few small sips at a time until she’d had a healthy bit, surprised at the energy she’d expended from just that set of motions.
“Thank… you.” she rasped, her voice rough and haggard from injury and disuse, tongue sore and dry, as uncooperative as the rest of her. “Am I… am I para… paralyzed?”
“No.” he assured her. “The pain potions and numbing liniments are making you weary. That’s all.”
Hermione would have nodded her understanding but her neck ached and covered eyes smarted at each attempted movement. “I must have needed… a lot of them.” she mumbled.
“Yes. As your more serious injuries heal, the less we need to dose you with. Your strength will return… The tremors in your limbs have subsided, there will be no lasting… physical effects… from your experience.”
Yes, she remembered the uncontrollable tremors wreaking havoc on her. “Crucio… three of them... at once.” she said heavily.
“I’m sorry… I know that pain.”
Slowly, Hermione reached up and touched the numb expanse of her face. She felt the thick bandages around her eyes, and over her left ear and temple, and a thinner gauze packed around her jaw, secured under her chin. “My eyes – did they….”
“Your eyes will heal.” His hand touched hers, firmly but cautiously tugging her fingers away from the bandages. “The glass went deep and you were hit by quite a few curses but you will recover. Don’t strain yourself.”
She let him resettle her hands across her stomach and felt him adjust the bed coverings around her. “Are you a doctor? A... a healer, I mean?”
“No.” he answered.
Confusion stumbled her. “Where am I?”
“You… are at my home.”
Bits and pieces of the conversations and clues she’d heard over the last few hours or days, she wasn’t sure, came back to her. It had sounded like this was some kind of safe house that others were sheltering in. Unsurprising in these tumultuous and dangerous times.
“Not a hospital?” she asked.
His tone turned regretful. “It’s not safe. I’m sorry. For either of us. More so for you.”
Fear and suspicion sharpened. “Why?”
“Things are volatile. There are… elements there that pose a greater danger to you. People who have been placed in various locations instructed to murder or capture muggleborns and blood traitors and anyone associated with Harry Potter or the Order.”
“Who?” she asked, a sense of trepidation rising.
“I am trying to find out. But until I do, it would be impossible to take you there in this state. You would not stand a chance, and none of your friends would get to you in time. And I would likely be killed on sight trying to get you there.”
“I don’t understand. Who are you?” she asked, heart pounding.
The man said nothing, only bathed her face and neck with a cool cloth. She must have been fevered or hot because even through the numbing salves, the cloth felt cold and wonderful.
“Tired.” she confessed, “I’m so tired.”
“It’s alright.” she heard him say. “Sleep. You’re safe. I swear it. My oath as a wizard.”
Fears, suspicions and questions forgotten in her exhaustion, Hermione slipped back into the ever open arms of Morpheus.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Hermione next awoke, she felt much better. There was little confusion to clear in those neutral moments after waking and she remembered where she was. What little of it she knew at least as it was not as if she had seen surroundings to recall, or viewed a face to put to the voice that had been speaking to her from the shadows. But she stirred to life in the middle of a conversation, as she felt small rough hands at her face applying bandages.
“And you’re sure all of the glass is gone, Mitzy?” her strange caretaker said quietly.
“Yes, master.” the small hushed voice of an elf whispered. “Glass went very deep into poor miss’ eyes. Potions have much to heal.”
“Very well. You may and go tend to the others.” he responded.
She heard a soft pop and assumed the elf had gone. She heard the wizard quietly moving things nearby. “Did you give me another sleeping draught?”
There was a pause in the movements. “You’re awake. Good evening.” he greeted her in that same rough quiet voice. “But no. You’ve not needed it for several days.”
Her brow furrowed as she looked towards the sound of his voice. Days. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Which time?” he asked,
“All of them?” she clarified with uncertainty.
He sighed and she heard the movement of a wooden chair beside her. “It's been three weeks since your injury. Four days since we last spoke.”
Shock and panic gripped her. “Three weeks!” she tried to sit up but immediately regretted it as the room spun - a deeply odd feeling when one couldn’t see. Ohh no. she lamented as her stomach churned unpleasantly.
“Here. Try and be still.” he said, pressing a glass vial to her hand.
She recognized the feel and shape of a nausea potion. Usually for hangovers but it would do. She uncorked it slowly and smelling the familiar scent, she drank the contents, immediately feeling centered once again. “Thank you.” she said quietly. She laid her head back, breathing slowly to collect herself. Three weeks. Ron and Harry would be going out of their minds. Hopefully Ginny was alright… Her caretaker spoke again.
“Do you know your name? Do you remember what happened?”
She thought for a moment. She certainly remembered her name. And though some things over the last apparent three weeks were hazy, and there were a few holes in her recollection of the time before, she felt she had a fairly solid grasp on events.
“Yes.” she answered. “Shouldn’t I?”
“I was not certain how extensive the damage from your head injury was.” he explained.
Hermione let that sink in. She must have been very poorly indeed if he thought it possible she wouldn’t know herself. “How injured am I exactly?”
“It may not comfort you to hear it.” he said simply.
She frowned. Probably not. But still... “Please. I… I can’t see. I can barely move. I’m in a strange place, with a strange man who won’t tell me his name. I have no idea where I am, what’s wrong with me, or where the people who hurt me are. I don’t know where my friends got to, and I don’t even know if they’re ok I… I would appreciate some truth, some reality.”
She heard a resigned sigh. “Very well.” he acquiesced gently. “The glass embedded in your eyes did quite a lot of damage. There’s an ocular potion brewing now but it takes time.”
“And the rest of me?”
She felt the man touch her hand encouragingly and Hermione braced herself for what was evidently distressing news. “Beyond a number of bruises and cuts, and nerve damage from the torture curse, the bones in your skull were broken at the temple, as well as your jaw and cheekbone and nose. There was bleeding of the brain. A number of broken bones in your body. Several of your ribs were broken and your hip was shattered. It looked like curse damage. There was also a great deal of trauma to your organs, your spine and internal bleeding. A healer attended you, a private one I have had to rely on in the past. There were certain procedures I wouldn’t dare to attempt. Your hip had to be completely regrown and your spine repaired as well as the brain damage, of which you are not yet healed completely.”
Hermione laid quietly, absorbing what he’d said. She knew she’d been beaten, cursed, tortured. But she must have blocked out exactly what was done to her. All she had been aware of was pain…
“Merlin.” she breathed. “I should have died.” Hermione turned her head towards where he was sitting. “I would have died. If you hadn’t found me.”
“A fortunate set of happenstance.” he dismissed.
A small smile curved her lips - the first smile she thought she felt on her face in months. “You mean you’re not some professional avenging angel scouring the streets of Knockturn alley, rescuing poor witches who’ve bit off more than they can chew with marauding bands of murdering rapists?”
She heard an amused snort. “Now there’s a thought. No. I’m glad I came across you. But I do not make a habit of stalking the streets of London for unfortunate souls... Do you require anything?”
She tilted her head questioningly. “Your name?”
A pause. “Something I can provide.”
She frowned again. “You’ve taken me into your home, kept me alive, sworn my safety, sat by my bedside nursing me back to health but your name is beyond the pale of what you can offer?”
“I am sorry. I know refusing to name myself, or tell you your whereabouts is not helping your anxiety. But I’m afraid it must be this way.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why can’t I know who you are? Who is looking for you?”
There was a long pause. “Everyone,” he said finally. “And I am not the only one who depends on this place for safety. Or the only one with secrets to keep.”
Hermione swallowed, trying with difficulty to accept the vague anonymity of her situation. She tried to tell herself if anyone here wished her harm, they’d have acted on it by now…
“You said before that it was dangerous at the hospital.” she recalled.
“Yes.” he said. “It is of course your decision. You shouldn’t move while you’re recovering and magical travel would be disastrous. But seeing as I have no idea how to contact your friends, and I doubt you wish to risk telling me where they are, it may not matter. I can hide you here as long as needed. And I will see that you are cared for.”
Hermione bit her lip. She desperately wanted to be somewhere familiar. But this man was still a stranger and she wouldn’t risk the Order, or her friends… She thought of Grimmauld Place. After ensuring it was clear after Voldemort’s downfall, it was once again being used to house displaced Order members and it was supposed to be her rendezvous point with Ron, Ginny and Harry if they were ever separated. But she had no hope of getting there on her own in this state.
“Then I suppose I have no choice.” she allowed. “I’ll have to impose on your hospitality a bit longer.” She thought back over the time she could remember. “You called me Hermione. So, you know me?”
That much seemed certain. He didn’t speak like an awestruck fan of the golden trio, nor an enemy that wished to harm her. But there was a very long pause as he evidently tried to decide how to answer.
“Sir?” she pressed when he didn’t speak.
“I know who you are.” he said hesitantly. “Not at first. You were not… recognizable. But once I began healing your wounds and cleansing the blood and dirt, I… I did realize.”
“There’s quite a few people who would reward you very well for handing over Hermione Granger.” she said woodenly, a sick twisting settling in her stomach as she contemplated the possibility of being ransomed.
“They can offer me nothing that I want.” he assured her simply.
She wondered at that. “So, you're wealthy.”
“I didn’t say that. I said they cannot offer me anything that I want.” he replied.
The voice still sounded familiar. But it was low. Quiet. Raspy, from pain or disuse or exhaustion, or all of the above, she didn’t know but there was a vaguely familiar edge to it. She still couldn’t place it and her head and ears ached if she tried.
Instead she asked one of the questions plaguing her thoughts. “How long will I be this way?”
“You had many injuries. Many potions needed. Lower doses over a longer period of time so as not to overwhelm you. It all depends on how well you respond to the treatments.
The spine, brain, eyes, organs… these are complex things to heal. A few weeks - if we are optimistic.”
Hermione took a deep breath. “Well. Not a hopeless prognosis… it all must be working. I can’t move well but I feel like I should be in more pain than I am. Are you a potion master?”
“I do well enough. But no. I have… a friend… who is busy brewing what you need. Which reminds me I must go and check his progress.” She heard the quiet rustle of fabric and a scrape of wood as he shifted the chair and stood up. “I will return to see you soon. The elf, Mitzy, will help you and attend to you if I am not here. You have only to call her and she will come as soon as she is able. You are not alone.”
She heard footsteps retreating across the room and she called out. “Thank you.”
He stopped walking.
“Thank you, for not going on your way when you found me. For taking me somewhere safe. For… for taking care of me as you have been.”
There was silence and then he spoke, sounding a bit mystified, as if such words were foreign to him. “You’re… welcome. Try and rest.”
And then she heard the sound of the door opening and closing and she was left alone in the black silence.
Chapter 3: Of Virtue and Dignity
Summary:
Hermione makes improvements and tries to prod for information about her caretaker.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“There will be times, on this journey,
All you see is darkness.
But out there somewhere.
Daylight finds you.
If you keep believing.”
“Look Through My Eyes”, Phil Collins
Mitzy the elf turned out to be a gentle caretaker and a diverting companion. Though her mysterious wizard “friend” was there fairly frequently, he did not need to keep as strict a vigil as before, now that she seemed to be out of danger but she awoke to find him near her more often than not over the next few days.
Mitzy was kind and understanding, putting Hermione at ease over her situation.
“Miss should not be worrying.” the elf said as Hermione heard her bustling around the room. “Miss is very safe here. No one can be finding us, miss. Have no fears. Master will not let any harm come to the poor witch.”
Strangely, Hermione did find her fear abated. At least as far as it applied to herself. She was still anxious over Ron, Harry and Ginny, and all the others of course. But for her own safety, she had come to a strange, calm acceptance of her lot.
Her range of motion remained compromised for several days and the more she healed the more an ache she could feel in her back and her hips. She remained flat on her back, unable to shift much on her own, let alone stand or walk, which led to more than one distressing and embarrassing situation. More than once she could only lay in her bed and weep bitterly at the abject humiliation of it. But Mitzy, the kind and gentle elf, only snapped her fingers, cleansing her instantly and patting Hermione’s hand comfortingly.
“Don’t cry, miss.” Mitzy cajoled her, stroking her hair. “Witch should not be ashamed. Mitzy is here. Tended worse she has. Elf will take care of miss, no be worrying.”
“Thank you, Mitzy.” she sniffed pitifully, her tears falling freely as the elf began changing her bandages. Her tears turned to soft, breathless laughter as Mitzy dabbed the tears away with a soft kerchief.
Trying to calm herself, feeling dangerously close to a breakdown, she took several breaths, trying to simply enjoy the feel of cool air moving across her normally bandaged face. The flesh felt new and sore, and the elf was gentle as she worked in bits of liniment along her jaw and temple.
“Is it still very bad, Mitzy?” she ventured to ask.
“Miss gets better each day.” the elf replied simply, cupping Hermione’s face gently as she poured a few drops of some liquid into her open but sightless eyes. She felt a cooling sensation across the surface as it absorbed into her.
“I still can’t see anything. It's all just black.” Hermione said, confessing to herself her concern.
“Be patient, miss.” Mitzy admonished. “Master and his friend will find right combination of potions.”
Hermione nodded hopefully and focused on the business of healing. Mitzy was present more often over a couple of days than usual and she did not hear the wizard who had been there before, so Hermione assumed the elf would be taking over for her previous attendant. It was probably just as well. She felt horribly exposed with the unknown wizard, and though he had been nothing but patient, kind and attentive, she was embarrassed at her helplessness and dependence….
Mitzy had explained to her that she’d been essentially kept alive with magical nourishment potions for the first few weeks, but now that she was awake and could speak and swallow, Mitzy began bringing her meals of real food, and Hermione’s stomach lurched in hunger, unsatisfied as it was with its fare thus far. But chewing she knew would be a challenge, as she could feel her jaw and the teeth along the side of her face that had been kicked still didn’t feel quite right. But Mitzy thought ahead and was prepared, so along with weak tea, she brought small but frequent offerings of easy choices, broth and gruels, thin porridges and fortified drinks. And when they were sure her empty and taxed stomach wouldn’t revolt at the food, the kind elf added bits of milk and honey to her tea and cream and mashed fruit to her porridge and more hearty soups, applesauces, even bits of fish and stewed greens and flavorful rice dishes that were easy to swallow without taxing her jaw. Her only regret was that beyond lifting a tea cup, Hermione could still do little for herself and had to resign herself to being fed from a spoon by the small creature adding to her sense of frustrated helplessness...
Slowly she began to have an easier time moving her upper body. She could move one arm without restriction and she could hold her head up easily. As such, one day in the late afternoon after Mitzy had cleared away a service of tea, soft, easy to swallow biscuits and clotted cream,she gingerly began to explore what she could reach of herself and her surroundings. Careful not to upend anything, she felt a solid wood table beside her bed that housed little beyond a tea cup, glass of water and a pitcher. Her bed was near a wall, she could feel the texture of the wallpaper beneath her palm as she stretched out her hand… by the ticking sound, there was a small clock somewhere nearby overhead. Perhaps there was a shelf somewhere… The sheets and comforters were quite nice, warm and soft, pleasant to sink into. And though she couldn’t smell or feel anything from outdoors she supposed there must be a window somewhere for she could hear the quiet, distant braying of sheep. So wherever she was it was out in the country and she allowed herself a moment of nostalgia and homesickness for the Burrow and all that was sure and familiar.
Carefully she drew her hand flat over her head and face. Her hair was brushed and tied back with care. Places on her head felt tender to the touch, her temple smarting as she brushed against the bandages there. Her eyes were tightly covered still of course, but the thick bandage across her jaw had been removed and she could feel the smoothing but raised flesh of magical knitting charms on the skin there. Pushing aside the blankets she ran her hand down the length of her body. One leg was in a cast from knee to hip, the other unobstructed but equally useless, and there was a stiff bandage or brace around her rib cage making deep breaths fairly difficult. Brow furrowed she realized something she hadn’t had cause to notice before.
“These aren’t my clothes.” she said to no one in particular.
How surprised she was when “no one in particular” answered back from the evidently open door.
“They were bloody and torn.”
Hermione let out a soft squeal of fright, her body jerking involuntarily as she startled.
“I’m sorry.” the wizard said apologetically, and she heard his footsteps as he advanced into the room. “I didn’t intend to startle you.”
She laid her better hand against her now erratically pounding heart. His voice sounded strange but she had become accustomed to his manner of speaking in the short time of their odd acquaintance and knew it was him. “It's you. Sorry, no I… it's just you haven't been around in days and I… Well, I’m not sure exactly what I thought, I just didn’t expect you.”
She heard the familiar sound of the chair moving and another sound, and she imagined him removing a cloak as he sat down.
“Mitzy assisted me with things you needed that would be improper for me to attend to…” he explained. “Your dignity and virtue is intact.”
Tears stung her eyes which caused them to ache mercilessly. Her virtue might be, but certainly not her dignity. Not in her mind.
“Thank you.” she said sincerely, proud that she had managed to keep the quaver from her voice.
“You look well. Mitzy reports you are moving better. How are you feeling?” he inquired.
“Beginning to move better at least.” she said. She shifted experimentally. “And I’m feeling as well as I should be I suppose. My ribs are starting to feel like I’ve been put through a wood chipper.”
“May I?” she heard him ask, the back of his hand brushing questioningly against her side.
“Oh… um…” she felt gingerly at her upper body again. The lace up dress would reveal nearly everything when undone, but she also felt a wide bustier style garment covering her breasts with a higher neckline than a typical bra. Someone with functioning eyes needed to look and presumably he’d already done so when he was treating her. “Alright.” she acquiesced.
She felt the man brush against her collarbone as he reached for the laces of her dress, or dress like garment for all she could tell, but he remained as hands off as was possible. His hands were gentle as they undid the front of her dress and parted the fabric and she fought down an involuntary shiver of surprise as the warmth of his fingertips grazed her sides as he moved the cloth aside. She tried to touch the undergarment subtly to reassure herself she was decent, and winced as he tenderly examined the sore expanse of flesh there along her side. She was anxious. But something about his touch, warm and soothing, relaxed her.
Merlin knows it shouldn’t.
She didn't know this man. His name. His face. Anything about him. He could be anyone. He could mean her harm. He could be holding her for ransom. An operative sent to kidnap her for leverage against the newly assembling ministry. A human shield to whatever Aurors they came across. But right now she was incapable of travel and he was healing her and that was what she focused on. More to the point she couldn't do anything about it, and if she was being totally honest... she didn't WANT to believe he could mean her harm. He had been kind and helpful, and the more of her recollection improved the more sure she was that he had been there, nearly every moment, holding her and healing her through the worst of it, and she didn't want to think it could all be for nothing, a ruse. That the small glimmer of humanity and rest that she’d unwittingly discovered in the dark, chaotic filth of the war’s aftermath was a lie…
She shook off the maudlin thoughts. Because it still didn't matter, regardless of the truth she couldn't do anything about it, and letting herself fall into anxiety and despair would only expose her to more danger if she weren't thinking clearly. She focused on taking in her surroundings and as much about her mysterious caretaker as she could.
There were no calluses or rough bits of skin on his hands, but his hold was strong when he helped her to move. She felt firm muscle beneath her fingers when she gripped his shoulders for support when he helped her to shift so he could look at the flesh along her back. He was a sure and oddly comforting presence. Perhaps it was the fear and confusion and pain of the last couple of weeks. He was something certain and stable to reach for in the chaos. She sighed at the gentle brush of fabric and hair as he bent forward to look at her closely. Goose-flesh erupted over her body and her nipples pebbled not in arousal - that would be ridiculous, but in a relaxed shiver of pleasure at his touch, like the pleased shudder of a cool breeze on too hot skin, or the relaxed sigh a gentle hair brushing could bring. She had never felt a man's hands so easy and graceful. It should hurt but she barely registered it as he examined and prodded at various points on her body, remarkably considerate in his touch, seeking her comfort and ease...
“You are bruised of course,” he said finally. “But the bones are nearly healed.”
Hermione swallowed. “I guess I’m sore from all the shifting and growth.”
“Undoubtedly.” She heard him pick something up, and the sound of a cap being unscrewed. “Some more of the healing salves couldn’t hurt you.” He paused. “Would you like me to find Mitzy to do this?”
She appreciated that small gentlemanly gesture. “Uh, no. But thank you. I um. I don’t mind.”
She all but sank into the soft pillows of her bed as he worked the salve into her ribs, up her shoulder, and collar bone. She sighed as the soreness eased and dissipated and her body relaxed. She felt suddenly desperate for conversation. Something to distract from the simultaneously awkward and stirring feel of this man’s touch.
“You’re good at this. Healing, I mean.” she said.
“I have seen my fair share of injuries,” he explained. “Skill born of necessity.”
“You should have been a healer, if you’re not.” she added.
She felt his touch pause and hesitate. Then he went back to his ministrations with the salve.
“Once upon a time. A very long time… The thought had crossed my mind.”
“To become a healer?” she asked with interest, filing that information away. “Why didn’t you?”
She heard a quiet derisive snort. “Family and… generational expectations. Any ideas of forging my own path were dealt with young.” he answered.
“That’s a shame.” she said genuinely. “What drew you to it?”
He paused again. “I suppose I always had an affinity for potions. I enjoyed devising interesting ways to use them. I was pleased enough to leave the complicated crafting and brewing to others, I excelled in practical applications.”
“And applying it to healing?” she pressed curiously.
“It presents a challenge. Finding the perfect combination. Layering potions and spells just right. Avoiding unforeseen pitfalls.”
“You enjoy problem solving.” she surmised, layering the pieces together. “Reading people. Finding out what they need.”
“Yes. Unfortunately, such proclivities were guided towards… less beneficial purposes.” he confessed.
He sounded regretful to Hermione’s ears, and she wondered what those purposes might have been. But it didn’t feel right to press him on it, no matter how much her curiosity craved beyond the few morsels of information she’d gathered. At least not yet… If she were in friendly hands she couldn’t risk alienating her only help. If she were in unfriendly hands… well. She couldn’t afford ANY offense.
“I’m sorry.” she said instead.
“Don’t be.” he replied shortly. “I assure you. I don't deserve your pity. What of you? Did you always have your designs set on being the heroine of children's stories?”
She heard the humor in the tone of his question and smiled back. “Gods no. I hate public speaking, I hate being the center of attention, and I hate paparazzi and cameras.”
He gave a soft laugh. “So you’ve lost on all three counts.”
A quiet laugh from her joined his. “Yes, I suppose I did.”
He paused then. “I need to see to your hip. Do you still not wish for Mitzy?”
Hermione shifted a bit, double thinking her previous stance. He’d need to move the hem of the dress up well past her hips to see to the injury. Most of her one leg was still in a cast but… Still, she was loath to disturb the elf unnecessarily. She remembered the wizard saying there were others here, seeking safety, and the elf certainly had other more important things to do and the wizard acting as her caretaker was already here…
“Its ok.” she said, finally.
She felt him shift to lean over her and she was hit with the subtle scent of leather and parchment, and firewhiskey. Whoever he was, she was beginning to think he was at least an educated gentleman. That particular streak she was grateful for once more as she felt him shift her dress up and over, using the hem to keep her covered from her inner thigh beyond.
“Thank you.” she said, fighting a blush she felt warming her cheeks. “I’ve… I’ve never been good at… at um…uh…”
“Trusting.” he supplied. “Most couldn’t blame you... I’m going to cut the cast away. I believe you can do without it now.”
She heard him tap his wand against the cast and an immediate feeling of freedom seeped across the limb. Charms had kept her comfortable but being unrestricted felt wonderful. She took a relieved breath as feeling, air and blood flow skipped across her skin as he examined her first and then began working the salve into the tired flesh.
She remembered a bit of what he had said but still wondered. “Was the damage all that made it take so long for me to heal?”
He remained silent for a moment and then answered. “You were more than a bit malnourished when I found you. That complicates matters, in healing and in a potions efficiency.”
Hermione didn’t find that surprising. In the past year she’d barely had time, ability, and will to so much as think about self care let alone actually eat. How many nights had they been starving, surviving on their meager provisions and foraged finds? Since Voldemort’s downfall, meals at least had been frequent enough, but it was hardly going to be a quick turn around.
“But I ask for your forgiveness.” he added.
Hermione frowned. “For what?”
“Beyond the reality your body was far too battered to attempt to heal everything at once, we… I… hesitated to force it. Theoretically, I could have put you under for a week or two. Healed everything at once as swiftly as possible… but there are risks associated with such an approach that weren’t mine to take.”
She nodded. She had never taken up with the healing arts beyond hints of them in charms, defense and potions, but she knew enough that the more you tried to do, the more could go wrong.
She smiled gratefully. “Thank you. I know you’re doing your best… How soon do you think I’ll be walking again? I know I needed your help for most of the movement but I do feel stronger.”
“And each passing day will only improve. Don't rush it. You were injured badly, and now isn’t the time for overachieving.”
She knew he was correct but the helplessness of being confined to the bed was frustrating. But she refocused her mental energy on gratitude and away from the irritation at her lack of independence and strength. Temporary, she assured herself.
“I don’t remember very much from when I first arrived here.” she said. “But I seem to remember voices. There was more than one person who didn't want me here. But you didn’t let them send me off.”
“The decision is mine to make,” he said simply. “But… I cannot be displeased with them. They are only disturbed at recent events. Concerned for their lives and their loved ones.”
“I’m thankful for everything you've done and I don't want to harm people.” she told him sadly.
“I know.”
They passed a moment in comfortable but persistent silence and then he cleared his throat.
“I… I had a reason for coming to disturb your solitude.” he admitted, and she heard the soft rustle of fabric and then his touch on her hand. But it was a tactical touch as he turned her palm up and she felt the unmistakable feel of the handle of a wand being pressed into her hold. Her fingers tingled, and a rush of power surged up her forearm.
HER wand.
“Oh my god.” She said in disbelief. “How did you---? Is this where you've been? Searching for my wand?”
“Forgive me for taking so long, I had to be cautious how I traveled. A complicated tracking spell using one of your bloodied bandages. Whoever took it from you fled a fair distance before they lost it but--”
She moved suddenly, throwing her arms around his neck. She had no idea who this man was but she could have kissed him full on the mouth for the excitement that rushed through her. Instead she pitched awkwardly from the force of her movement, his arms coming quickly around her waist to keep her from falling from her bed and onto the floor.
He seemed momentarily stunned and then chuckled quietly. “Steady.”
“I'm sorry!” she apologized, letting him go and raising a hand to her now flaming cheek. “I'm so sorry, I just… oh my god, thank you!”
“I thought you might feel safer. More comfortable. If you had it.”
She did. Oh gods, Merlin, she did. She could breathe easier, and she felt more in control.
“Perhaps…” he began hesitantly. “Perhaps you would like to send a message.”
Of course! A patronus. She could give a message to it for Harry and Ron, letting them and everyone know she was alive.
But she could feel the tension in him and she felt for his hand. It said something to her that he believed it was a strong possibility that she could have her patronus lead them here, and damn everyone in this house to death if she betrayed their location and her friends were followed, and yet he didn’t turn her out or stop her. It was a kind and merciful gesture, a risk he took on to help her, that she sincerely wanted to repay and acknowledge. “I meant what I said. I don't want to hurt anyone. I'll only tell them I'm alive and I'll get back to them as soon as I can. They wouldn’t be able to send a message to me through it anyway, ”
She heard a quiet relieved breath. “Thank you.” he said.
“Right.” Hermione raised her wand and ran her fingers down the length of it. “Can you do me a favor? Tell me what shape you see so I know I’ve got it? Expecto patronum.”
Happy memories had been hard to conjure as of late but with some relaxed breathing she summoned up enough of her joyful thoughts through the years and cast the spell.
“Otter.” he answered after she cast the spell. But then… “Hermione?”
She expected the pull. The thrilling tingle of magic but when that burst of power left her palm to find its trajectory through her wand, she felt another sensation. A dragging rush of exhaustion that followed the path her magic took and she slumped forward with a breath, her wand clattering to the floor, pain burst in her chest, like a blade twisting. The last thing she was aware of was the wizard calling to her in a panic as she heard him leap forward and then falling into his arms in a dead faint…
Notes:
Thanks for reading. If you’re anxious for LD, another update will be coming before long.
Chapter 4: Cause For Hope
Summary:
Hermione learns the extent of the damage and has cause for concern.
Chapter Text
“I saw you standing in the middle of the thunder and lightning.
I know you're feeling like you just can't win, but you're trying.
It's hard to keep on keepin' on, when you're being pushed around.
Don't even know which way is up, you just keep spinning down, 'round, down.”
“Every Storm Runs Out of Rain”, Gary Alan
When Hermione awoke, she felt as if every part of her body had been weighted down. And just like that all of her progress she had felt herself making was trashed. She’d have wept for the helplessness of it but she couldn’t summon enough strength to even shed tears. But her heart pounded as she realized with blood boiling fear she couldn’t hear past a ringing in her ears, her lips felt numb and her chest ached. Had she had a heart attack or something?
She twitched and struggled uselessly, was she tied down? Was she captive after all?!
“Shh. You’re alright. You’re not alone.”
Her caretaker. That’s right. He sounded as if he were speaking to her through water, and her hearing was fading in and out of terrible head aching vibrations. She couldn't speak so she groped for his hand which he took. He knew she was frightened, she was sure the terror was practically radiating off of her, and he continued reassuring her as she grappled with consciousness.
Slowly movement returned and speech found its way to her tongue. “What… what happened?”
“You’ve exhausted yourself.” he answered. “But that is not to worry over right now.”
Something in his voice gave her pause. “What is it?” she groaned, leaving her head back against her pillow, nausea swirling in her gut, making her fatigue all the more acute. “I feel so strange.”
“Hermione, I need you to rest.” he said. “Lie still. I have a healer here.”
Her heart began to pound making her existing shortness of breath all the worse.
Her mysterious caretaker shushed her gently. “This is the healer I mentioned, that I’ve had to enlist the discrete services of on more than one occasion. Madam Decreux is trustworthy. And one of the best healers in Europe.”
Her brow furrowed as she heard the wizard and a new female conversing furtively in french.
“Hello.” a gentle voice then greeted in a heavy accent. “From the events your caretaker has described to me, you have exhausted yourself magically, and your latest episode has set your recovery back. The kidney damage you suffered worsened with the shock… and it seems the potions are not enough to heal it. We will need to remove it entirely and regrow it.”
Hermione’s head was spinning and her chest ached. She didn’t know what frightened her more. Her unknown location, the apparent kidney failure or the fact she had drained her magical core to the point of physical damage.
“I… I don’t…” she gasped.
“Shh.” the man’s arms slipped around her as she struggled to sit up and gently but firmly forced her back down. “I swore to you I would see you well. And I will. You are going to be alright.”
“Tout à fait!” the healer assured her. “You cannot go to the hospital, so we bring the hospital to you. You are in good hands, and I will ensure your caretakers have everything you need. Do not fear, it is like regrowing bones. Unpleasant but I can dull the pain. Would you like dreamless sleep?”
She hated the weakness and cowardice she felt flooded with but the idea of enduring even more pain after everything she had already experienced filled her with dread. “Yes please.” She replied, voice rough.
She wasn't sure how much time passed as she slipped in and out of consciousness but every time she awoke she felt the wizard’s hand in hers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The blankets were heavy but she was comfortably warm. The fever and illness seemed to have fled and slowly a better state of mind began returning. And with that the stress of it all.
She startled slightly. She heard him move. Felt his touch. Smelled his scent but she somehow knew he was there before any of it. Her heart beat slowed, her breath calmed and she sank back into the bedding and his arms as he helped her settle again.
“Slow now.” he cautioned.
Hermione swallowed. “How long was I out this time?”
“Only a few days. A day for the procedure, another for recovery. Today you began stirring.”
She nodded slowly. “What… what happened? Did I… did I really drain my magic?”
“I’m afraid so.” he answered.
“How did this happen?” she breathed in confusion.
He paused, seeming to search for the right words. “The alley was… destroyed where you were when I found you. I thought it was from a battle but it may have been you, suffering an outburst.”
She thought, clutching tightly to the bed sheets over her. “I remember… when they were beating me… I started thinking of all the terrible things that had happened.” Tears stung her eyes to remember, thankfully she had healed to the point this was no longer excruciating as it once had been. “I was angry, and frightened, and in terrible pain and then… I felt this electrical explosion almost, oh god it hurt!”
“Yes. I know.” He empathized quietly.
She could feel the panic rising in her. Her breath choking and short, she raised a hand to her temple that had begun to ache. “The pain. The slow healing. The exhaustion. Is that why -- but I… What does this mean, I can’t cast magic?! I can’t cast anything!”
He reached out for her again, his hand on her shoulder. “It will return.”
“How can you be sure?!” she demanded desperately. “How can you know?!”
She heard him sigh. “Because I have been where you are.”
Hermione calmed slowly. Personal experience was always better than empty platitudes. “You... you have? How? When?”
He released her but stayed close, sitting down in a chair nearby. “I was tortured. Near to madness. Relentlessly. Over hours. Days. I don’t know. I thought for sure I was going to die. Or… just blink into a permanent hell of barely aware nothingness… but the last shred of a coherent thought I had before it all stopped… I remember them taunting my… someone I loved. That they would be next. And all I could think was no. No, that couldn't happen. But what could I do? Powerless, wandless. A prisoner. And I remember nothing. I'm sure they thought they'd killed me at the time but there was this... agony, deep in my chest like I was on fire and then there was a burst of… I don’t even know. I was… not well, in my body or mind. For quite a while.”
Hermione swallowed. A pang of regret and empathy pricked at her for this unknown man that had suffered so terribly as well as a tingle of nervousness at his words. “How long? How long before your magic returned?”
“A few months. But I don’t think you will have that long a time.”
“You don’t?” she asked hopefully. She couldn’t survive months without her magic! It had been a part of her for as long as she could remember, the thought of trying to accustom herself to its absence was nausea inducing.
“No.” he answered. “I was tortured repeatedly, over a long time. Your torment has ceased, and you will be allowed to recover in peace.”
“Thank you.” she breathed. “Truly, I… I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“Been found by someone else, surely.”
“Undoubtedly, but… perhaps not a friendly someone.” she sighed and folded her hands in her lap, for all her other doubts of her current status, finally sure in her mind that whoever he was, this man did not mean her harm. “So what happens now? What do I do?”
“You rest and take one moment at a time.” he answered, “Don't force it. You will focus on recovery. Your magic is trying to heal itself and you at the same time, rendering a slow recovery of both. Give it no additional tasks to get on with. And I will hide you until you are on your feet. Then you may go where you wish... Would you like to be alone?”
“Strangely no.” Hermione answered. True, her head was still spinning but she thought if she were left alone to try and sort it all out she’d combust again...
“Is my presence helpful to you?” he asked,
“Yes.” she told him honestly. “You’ve been… immeasurably kind and helpful to me since coming here… All these weeks…” she trailed off, thinking of how long she’d been here, unsure of not just her own well-being, but her friends, the state of things she’d left, if the ministry had been fully secured, if anyone else knew the hospital wasn’t yet safe... Granted, she had seemed to pass most of the time unconscious but the oddity of her present situation and the unknown fate of her friends sharpened her physical pains and ailments. Chief among them her magic and eyesight. Could she live as a blind person if she never recovered? What would that look like? She had never even seen a blind person in their world… did it happen? She had so many questions and if there was anything she hated more than feeling helpless it was unanswered questions…
“What is it?” she heard the wizard ask. “Are you worrying over your magical ability?”
“Well yes of course but…” she shook her head. “But really what’s bothering me most is… I know you said I’ll heal, but... over three weeks and I’m still blind. It… makes me worry.” Hermione swallowed. “I know. There are always worse things that can happen. I must sound terribly ungrateful…”
But he didn’t chastise her. “You are allowed to fear the change it would bring.” he said. She heard him take a breath. “Come. Let me show you something.”
The wooden chair creaked as he stood and his footsteps retreated. She heard what sounded like a curtain sliding open and then he came closer. She felt his arm slip underneath her shoulders and he lifted her. She didn’t immediately see the need for his help as he supported her weight, sitting beside her on the bed until she sagged tiredly and helpless against his chest. Situated against him, she felt his fingertips at her temples as he slowly and carefully undid the bandaging. The familiar refreshing brush of fresh air touching her skin caused a shiver across her as she was freed.
“Keep your eyes closed.” he commanded as the last of the bandages fell away.
She did so, and then she felt his hand slip gently under her chin and he turned her face.
“You’re facing the window. Open your eyes now, slowly and carefully.”
It hurt with a dull ache but she blinked cautiously. It was an odd sensation, knowing her eyes were open yet sightless, the hazy black nothing disconcerting. But not as sightless as she previously believed as she looked in the direction he was facing her. The blackness broke in a pop of hazy grey.
“What do you see?”
“A small, fuzzy sliver of light.” she answered with a small bit of wonder in her tone.
It was completely senseless, the feeling of tears stinging her eyes. But the relief coupled with the onslaught of varying emotions stirred her into an outpouring of emotion and before she could stop herself she was sobbing into her hands and she was gasping and hiccoughing, cheeks flaming in embarrassment. “I’m s-sorry. I’m s-so sorry, I’m being an idiot---”
She didn’t know what surprised her more. Feeling his hands move to embrace her encouragingly, or that she so willingly leaned into this stranger’s comfort. He held her tightly, his hand coming to the back of her head to stroke her hair calmingly. When she’d quieted into deep breaths, he spoke.
“You survived. You survived it all. The war. And this. And you are going to be alright.”
Hermione took a steadying breath and nodded. Raising a hand to her now bare cheek as he helped her to lay down, she could feel raised, healing flesh and tender bruises as well as the tell tale feel of the magical stitching she had noticed before. She sighed, and scolded herself. Don’t think about it.
Aloud she said, “Can you help me write a letter? The patronus obviously didn't work but I still need to get my friends a message.”
She felt him tense and he hesitated. But then he spoke. “I have a dictation quill -- hm. No. Not here. Mitzy?” There was a small pop and Hermione assumed the elf had appeared. “Mitzy, would you retrieve the dictation quill from --- the other place.”
“Right away master.”
“In the meantime.” Hermione said. “I’d better write something in my own handwriting, so they know it’s me.”
He paused but stepped closer. “Very well. Go slowly, and hold tightly to my arm. You’ve not walked in weeks.”
“Barely been conscious for weeks.” she grumbled, disappointed.
She could practically hear the amused smirk in his tone. “Recovery is hardly a personal failure. You will conquer your challenges once again, fear not.”
She managed to sit back up on her own, a great feat in her mind, but her exhausted atrophied muscles balked at the attempt to swing her legs over the side of the bed. She managed, with a bit of aid, and she paused, gathering her bearings, perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Standing however proved to be another task entirely and after a few false starts, she was forced to let the wizard brace his arms around her and pull her to her feet.
She stayed standing, but she wasn’t sure how much was herself and how much was the man standing beside her. She took a few tentative steps at his urging, feeling her legs shake wildly beneath her and her fingers dug into his arm nervously.
“You will not fall. One bit at a time. It's only a few short steps to the desk.”
She took exactly four steps before buckling entirely, but he made good on his promise and his arm tightened around her, the other slipping behind her knees.
“Alright. That was enough to start with.”
“I feel so humiliatingly helpless.” she confessed, her cheeks warming as the wizard took only another few steps, with her in his arms, and gently deposited her in a firm but comfortable chair.
“A temporary ailment.” he assured her, sliding the chair forward and she felt her tired legs brush the underside of the desk. There was a pop and he spoke again. “Thank you Mitzy, leave it there.” She felt his hand warm and pleasant over hers as he arranged things on the desk, settled the quill in her grip and guided her hand to the parchment. “The quill won't run out of ink.” he said as he took her other hand and pressed her fingertips to the edge of what felt like a book or journal. “Use the spine to guide the quill across the parchment.”
It took some doing. And she must have second guessed herself after each word, strange as it was to attempt to write without seeing the parchment. But after a few minutes, she was reasonably sure she had a decent start to a letter.
“Harry Ron and Ginny. I’ll be using a dictation quill for the rest of this as its hard to write but I wanted you to have something in my hand you could hopefully recognize and see it was truly me…”
“There.” she said aloud. “Is it truly awful looking? Like a five year old wrote it?”
“Hm. Indeed. But legible.” he answered.
Hermione smiled and she heard a box click open and he handed her another quill and she felt the tap of a wand on her hand. “Now. This will answer to you.” Then to the elf he said. “Mitzy. When she has finished her letter you will read it to her and tell her the truth to its contents. I’m sorry, Hermione. It is the only assurance I can offer. I'll return later.”
She knew it was all she could expect, and tried to put the fears and nagging doubts from her mind as she heard his footsteps fade across the room and down the hallway. She set the quill down and began to speak and heard the quill begin swishing and scratching along until finally she had what she hoped was a convincing letter.
“Harry, Ron, and Ginny. I’ll be using a dictation quill for the rest of this as it's hard to write but I wanted you to have something in my hand you could hopefully recognize and see it was truly me… I hope everyone is ok. The last thing I remember is Ginny being hit. I wanted you to know I’m ok, I know I’ve been gone a while. I was injured and lost but I’m alright. I’m not able to travel but I hope to get back to you soon.”
She paused and thought before continuing.
“I’m not a hundred percent sure where I am at the moment. But try not to worry. I can’t explain why, or how I know, but everything will be alright.”
She finished with as much as she could remember about the attack, the when and where and the who, trying to leave out the more gruesome elements of her injuries lest they be beside themselves with worry. She warned them that the hospital in particular and possibly other places were not safe. She briefly debated whether to tell them she had managed to drain her magic but ultimately decided against it for now. Telling them would change nothing, and what she had included in the letter thus far was quite distressing enough as it is. Satisfied, she picked up the parchment, sealing it with Mitzy’s help. It was suitably informative, as much as she was able to be. And she could only hope it would get to them, and that when it did, those she loved and had been separated from were well…
Hermione wrote the names of Harry, Ron and Ginny on the outside, hopeful it would reach one of them. Just as she finished she heard footsteps in the hall and the voice she had become so accustomed to.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
She heard him cross the room and open a window, and then the familiar sound of fluttering wings and before she could do a thing, she felt the brush of feathers of an owl landing on the desk.
“Ms. Granger is your charge while she is here.” he said, presumably to the bird. To her he said, “This is Hulda. She is a very… particular owl, accustomed to quests of stealth. She will wait for a response or not, whatever you wish.”
Hermione bit the inside of her lip, absentmindedly stroking the owl’s soft feathers. He was offering her the chance to communicate with them freely. Should she? Would it only serve to stir them up, or would it give them peace of mind? And she could find out for sure if they were alright as well. Finally hear how things really were out there since she’d been hurt.
“Wait. Please.” she said to Hulda.
Mitzy was dismissed and the sound of the owl flying away hung in the room briefly before Hermione spoke.
“I want you to know, I didn’t try to help them find me. There’s not much I could give them by way of information anyway but… I didn’t.”
There was a pause and when he spoke he sounded surprised but relieved. “Thank you.” She heard a soft rueful chuckle. “Most would be preoccupied with their own challenges, but you think of strangers you don’t even know.”
“Well.” she clasped her hands together. “As I said I don't want to hurt anyone. And I heard a… a baby, before? Or at least I thought I did. And just that… I mean.” she laughed. “They could be the spawn of Voldemort himself, they wouldn’t deserve having their safety ripped away.”
She heard him clear his throat uncomfortably. “Yes, well. It's appreciated.”
She hadn’t realized how much the small bit of activity had drained her until the wizard helped her to stand. It took a frustratingly long time to get back to the bed but she managed to get there without needing to be carried this time.
“There now,” he said as she settled back against the pillows. He was speaking, probably about the potions he was using as he re-bandaged her eyes, but she wasn’t focused on it. She was honed in on his voice, his pleasant touch, that odd tone of his, never above a stern whisper.
“I've figured you out I think.” she told him.
There was an instant tension in his body she could feel even with this little contact. She could practically feel him freeze and stiffen and he fell into strained silence as he finished wrapping her eyes. “Have you?” he said.
“Yes.” she continued. “Sometimes your voice sounds strange as if you’re using a potion to disguise it. Then other times you sound a bit different but you’re speaking so quietly I can barely hear you. It's because I know you, don’t I? I would recognize you, wouldn’t I?”
There was another long pause but he relaxed marginally. “Perhaps… We…” he sighed. “We have not had many interactions. But you are a clever witch and I’m sure… it would take very little for you to place me.”
She frowned, her hands clasped together in her lap. “Why can’t I know your name? You saved my life. You’ve taken care of me… Do you really think I’d want you to be harmed after how you’ve aided me?”
“Hermione, I do not know how to answer you.”
Something in his tone seemed weary and anxious. There were not many things that would make a man not want to identify himself. Oh god just who was it that had her so helplessly in his grip? “You weren’t exactly in the Order were you?” she asked.
“I did what I had to do to keep my family alive.” he said unwavering. “I have no regrets in that respect. But… I am not proud of what I have done. Or how I lived my life before the war. And now… there are far too many people whose lives depend on the secrecy of this house. I cannot let them pay for my past with their lives.”
“Well… that’s something.” She surmised sadly. “I won’t pry.”
“Thank you.” he said quietly.
But Hermione feared she’d disquieted him with her questions, for it was a long time before she encountered him again. Or it felt like it was a long time. Time was difficult to gauge this way. It had not been long however before Hulda the owl returned and Hermione almost pitched from her bed in her startled excitement. So deep was her anticipation that it was not until after she fumbled at the patient and cooperative owl’s leg and hands shaking held the parchment in her fingers that she remembered…. She couldn’t read it.
Mitzy the elf was quite helpful in that department, reading the missive for her and by the close she was shaking and crying in relief. Ginny as it turned out, hadn't been hurt badly and after a day of rest and a healing potion she was in fighting form again. They had reclaimed “the home base” again after a brief attempt at an assault by an on the run Corban Yaxley and others who were promptly captured by the Aurors that had gathered themselves together. This, she assumed, meant Grimmauld was safe again, to which they begged her to return. Even through the naturally impersonal nature of letter writing she could hear their worry and panic, demanding to know where she was and who she was with, insisting on knowing her location. It wouldn’t matter the rationale she laid before them… they’d come storming the keep, she was certain. There was a chance she had been lied to. That her caretakers were really just evil wizards waiting to take advantage of her. Highly doubtful at this point though and she believed what the wizard that existed only in the shadows of her nonexistent sight had said. And if it were true that there were others, particularly children, whose safety were at risk, she couldn’t chance it… even to get home to those she loved. There had been enough death and sadness, and she refused to be the cause of more…
But she would write to them again and give them the assurance of frequency and hopefully learn more of what had been happening. But for that moment, she found herself easily exhausted and she fell asleep once more.
Being better recovered and awake longer had the unfortunate side effect that she was better able to feel all the aches and discomfort of healing, instead of just passing over the worst of it in a sedated haze. There was also the inconvenience of having a mind racing and outpacing an uncooperative body.
But Mitzy seemed to anticipate every need and Hermione wondered just how many poor souls she’d nursed through injury and illness, adept as she was at the role of nursemaid. Among her many duties and talents, she made sure Hermione was as engaged as possible, leaving the radio for her to listen to, bringing records to play on a Victrola, nondescript portraits to talk to, and had even been pulling her into a bit of a self made game, bringing her interesting sculptures, pieces of art and difficult to identify objects for Hermione to touch and riddle out, each object more challenging than the last, the goodhearted elf determined to “win” by finding an object Hermione couldn’t work out. Once she woke up thinking Mitzy had turned on the radio but then realized it was the faint, far off sound of piano music and she wondered who it was that was playing.
Mitzy was also endearingly attentive to her other needs, and slowly as her food tolerance and ability to chew improved, the elf brought more and more for her to enjoy. The thin broths and soups, stewed greens and fish turned to bland vegetables, boiled potatoes, rice and poached chicken, gradually increasing the portions and flavor.
She had “written” to her friends and when her mind at least felt stronger, with the help of Mitzy and her elf magic, had sent a memory of the attack in a charmed box. She didn’t fear it falling into the wrong hands, there was nothing that anyone could not see. But she hoped it would give Harry and the others more to go on about the violent band of murderers she’d contended with. She had been able to write the names of those she remembered specifically before, and she hoped the memory would give clues to what she couldn’t and bolster her written words with tangible proof, such as it was.
Her caretaker had returned after a couple of days, seeming to be as she had remembered him to be, if not slightly more tired. She’d inquired after him, genuinely concerned, only to be told it was nothing of importance and that “unforeseen problems” with one of the other “guests” here at the safe house had occupied his time. More than that he did not offer and she didn’t ask.
But the wizard was equally as attentive in his own way. He was a sure presence, and a strong arm as he helped her test her range of motion, and helped her to take small, short journeys around her room. She began to feel stronger, and instead of black nothingness when he changed her bandages she could see shadows in dark shades of gray. Her room was dark. Gently he accustomed her to light and activity. The heavy drapes were pulled back letting muted sun spill gently through the south facing window that she knew was there because of the lighter shades of grey when she looked at it.
He read the paper to her when he could, the few letters she received from Ron Harry and Ginny, stayed longer to talk with her and she enjoyed the sound of his voice and the discussions she could have on the variety of topics he recounted to her. She heard reports on Harry sighted here and there. Heard who was reported missing, who had been found, who was arrested and who was still on the run. The letters her friends sent filled in some blanks. Luna, thank the gods, had recovered and the ministry had indeed been secured. Auror forces were a bit lean from casualties but volunteers were training quickly, many former DA members. The warning about the hospital had been received weeks prior from an unknown someone else and was “being dealt with”, though she got few details of what exactly that meant…
Hermione herself had been reported missing, and the wizard sharing her space had hesitated to read that one to her. But she’d insisted, wanting to know what information could be garnered but the more he read the more uncomfortable she felt. There was something about the article… about most of the missing person articles… suggestive, skeevy, a creepy edge that made her skin crawl and left her feeling threatened. Almost as if, far from simply reporting on what was known, they were trying to lead the more undesirables left of society into a bounty hunt. Which brought the uncomfortable and frightening question of… who was there left to reward such things as more and more lingering sympathizers were rounded up and captured?
She asked him to stop reading and he did, and she was rubbing the wary, flustered feeling from her forearms.
“There are… subversives still in the ministry and at the Prophet. It is hard to know where the threat lies.” he said.
“You really are protecting me.” she surmised. “Why?”
There was a pause and she heard the paper fold and be set aside. “The why is immaterial. The relevant point is that I am… and will continue to.”
Hermione didn’t know what to say. The crawling feeling that settled over her faded as she relaxed. There was no logical reason words spoken from a faceless stranger should bring her any comfort… but somehow they did.
Chapter 5: A Name To Grieve
Summary:
Hermione worries over her caretaker. The wizard tries to reassure her.
Chapter Text
“Cause when push comes to shove, you taste what you're made of.
You might bend till you break, 'cause it's all you can take.
On your knees, you look up, decide you've had enough.
You get mad, you get strong. Wipe your hands, shake it off.
Then you stand.”
“Stand”, Rascal Flatts
The next time Hermione awoke, she could see small bits of light through the slightly more porous bandaging that felt like late morning and she wondered if she was finally on a more reasonable sleep schedule. The sounds of outside, a gentle breeze, nearby birds and far off sheep sounded louder, and among the sounds of outdoors, and closer to her, the quiet steady scratching of a quill.
“I can hear you writing.” she said groggily.
The scratching over the parchment stopped. “You’re awake,” he said.
She sat up on her own, a motion that was challenging but increasingly easier. “What are you working on?”
“Information.” the wizard replied. “That you will need when you go back. There is hot tea beside you on the table if you wish.”
She felt for it gingerly and raised it gratefully to her lips. “Go back.” she teased, taking a sip. “Haven’t decided to hold me for ransom after all?”
He chuckled quietly. “Now that you’re awake we should check your eyes.”
She took another few sips of the tea as he stood and came closer. He had changed the bandaging himself every day. She leaned back, letting her head fall and rest against the headboard behind her as she felt his hands gently at her temples and he began to undo the dressing. She kept her eyes closed and then felt the fabric fall away.
“Tell me the truth of what you see?”
Slowly she opened her eyes, blinking slowly. “Grey, mostly. Splotches of white where there’s light. Nondescript shapes and shadows, some outlines but no details…”
He made a quiet noise of approval . “We can go lighter on the bandages I think.” he said and he began dropping the now familiar healing potion into her eyes, and she sighed at the cooling slightly numbing feeling that soothed the deep ache and the dry feeling that often settled in her eyes. There was less pressure and less padding as he put new medicated bandaging around her.
“Aren’t you worried that one day you’ll take the bandage off and I’ll see you?” she asked.
She heard him sigh regretfully. “I dread that day with an anxiety and regret that I can not describe to you.”
She frowned, not entirely sure what to do with that answer. He changed the subject quickly. “How are you feeling today?”
“Like I’d like to try walking some more.” she replied hopefully.
“Are you certain?” he hesitated.
“A few rounds of the blood replenishing potions, and real food, I’m feeling a lot stronger.” Hermione insisted.
She felt his hand take hers. “Very well.”
He steadied her as she sat up straight and shifted the blankets aside, and dropped her feet down off the side of the bed. Suddenly, she blushed, feeling about her body awkwardly. “Oh, um… am I?”
She heard him chuckle. “Decent. A simple night shift. But now that you’re moving about more, perhaps you’d like Mitzy to bring you some more substantial clothing?”
She gripped his arm tightly as she stood, pleased when she didn’t wobble or feel dizzy at the motion. “If it's not too much trouble, I think that would be nice.”
They had done this a few times, her making short trips around the room while he supported and guided her. She instinctively put her hand out in front of her searching for obstacles until he reassured her as he always did. “I won’t let you walk into anything.”
Hermione nodded and dropped her hand, focusing on placing her feet where they needed to go, slowly and deliberately. She had just started to think she had it, and then her knees buckled with a shriek, but true to his word, her caretaker grasped her firmly, and she was held safely in his arms, her back pressed against his chest.
“And I will not let you fall.” he added,
She looked up, her lips parted with the breath she dragged into her lungs at her sudden plummet stopped by him. She could feel the slight brush of his breath against her cheek as she paused, held firmly up while she regained her footing. A tingle went down her spine and she cleared her throat softly, standing straighter slowly.
“That was good.” he reassured her, helping her limp back to her bed.
“I made it twice round the room…” she said dejectedly.
“And it was twice enough for the day,” he countered.
“No, I want to try again!” she insisted.
“Tomorrow.” he emphasized.
Hermione huffed as she laid down. “Later tonight?”
“A compromise, my lady? Very well. Again, tonight when you’ve had your supper. But first, here is Mitzy with your breakfast.
“Will you join me?” she said impulsively. She really hadn’t thought much of it, it seemed a natural thing to ask. But he seemed caught off guard by her invitation.
But then he spoke. “Mitzy, I’ll... be taking my meal here with Ms. Granger.”
“Of course, master.” the elf said.
Hermione smiled. She enjoyed talking with him. And conversation was easy as he sat near her bed and soon she smelled fresh food and heard the elf rearranging some furniture.
“Would miss like to sit up to the table?” the elf asked.
Sitting and sharing a meal at a proper table. Such a simple thing but it sounded lovely. “Yes, please.”
Mitzy magically arranged supportive pillows behind her so she could sit on the edge of her bed at the small desk turned breakfast table. She felt in some small measure not like a patient.
“Thank you, Mitzy, that will be all.” she heard her caretaker dismiss. There was a soft pop and then he reached across the table and took her hand, moving her fingers to touch the plate in front of her. “Toast at 12 oclock, eggs at 3, bacon at 6. There's a small bowl of fruit to the side at 9 if you wish for something lighter.”
Hermione smiled again, touched by the gesture of care. “I do appreciate your kindness.” she said feeling for the napkin beside the plate and draping it across her lap.
She heard a slight scoff. “Not something I’m typically accused of.”
“Am I a rare recipient?” she asked.
“Perhaps when compared to more public acts of service…Its only anonymity... that allows me to be openly gracious. When your enemies sense weakness… people you love get killed.”
“Why anonymity?” she asked, her curiosity piqued at his sad, grim outlook as they began taking in their meal. “Would it be different in the bold light of day?”
There was a long and heavy pause, an energy on the air as if he might answer… might explain. But it seemed he was not going to be making any confessionals, and he changed the subject.
“Have you been satisfied with the missives from your friends?”
Hermione decided to let the matter rest for now. “Yes, and thank you again for helping me. I know you took a risk in trusting me.” she admitted.
“No greater than yours,” he responded.
She paused in her eating. “Yes… admittedly it's strange to be so at ease here with you. I suppose it's because I was here under your care for weeks before I really woke up. If you had wanted to harm me you could have then…”
“True enough,” he acknowledged quietly.
They spoke of easy things as they ate. And Hermione discovered a number of unexpected commonalities with him. It was so strange that she was, at least in passing, familiar with him and had these shared interests and knowledge and she didn't know him. Books, art, literature, a penchant for quiet evenings rather than raucous events and socializing… She thought in another world, they might have been friends. Breakfast concluded, he helped her back to bed but she reminded him of his promise for later.
But supper found her exhausted. Far too tired to attempt more walking than the steps it took to and from the table.
“Don’t say I told you so.” she grumbled irritably.
She heard a low chuckle. “I wouldn't dare,” he said. But she felt a subtle shift in energy from him. “I have to leave tomorrow. There’s a few things we need for the potions. Mitzy will be here to help you.”
Hermione frowned in concern. “I thought it was dangerous.”
“It is but we have no choice. We must continue the treatments on your eyes and we are running out of what we need. So I must go.”
She didn’t like it. But there was nothing to do about it, he was determined to go and when she awoke the next morning, Mitzy the elf was the one in her room, telling her that her master had gone before sunrise. Hermione almost wished she didn’t know of his plans, for a dread and anxiety settled over her and refused to leave no matter what attempts at distraction were made by her elven companion. She ate and drank very little, only taking small bits of tea at the elf’s insistence, her stomach twisting in knots. What if he never came back? Would the elf see her home? What would become of her? What would she do never knowing a thing about the wizard who had come to her aid? He said he’d be killed on sight. What if he were, and it was only because he had been trying to help her?
The rare occasions that the elf left her alone, Hermione decided to use her newfound improved strength and dexterity to explore her small space. Using the walls and furniture about the room, she pulled herself along, slowly and carefully making sightless study. This proved a small distraction from her anxiousness as it took a fair bit of concentration to remain upright and not run into things.
It was a well furnished guest room she discovered. The bed was spacious, with lush coverings. There was the table she’d become familiar with, the desk she managed to sit at on occasion. As she moved about she felt a large stone fireplace, picture frames on the walls and sconces for candles. A dresser, a door she thought might lead to the bathroom and was pleased to find it did. The cool tile touching her bare feet, she didn't realize what a thrill it would be, doing something as simple as using the bathroom on her own…
The fatigue and soreness in her inexperienced and recovering limbs and muscles made her exploration difficult but she pressed on. Also to be discovered in the room, she felt a tall wardrobe and a dresser, nearly toppled over an armchair, and then found what felt like a cushioned bench inset into the wall by a large window that she imagined would be just lovely to sit in with a book…
The discovery that gave her pause however was at what she assumed by the size and the presence of a hairbrush and what felt like cosmetic jars was a vanity stand. She leaned forward, her palm resting gently on the cool glass of what could only be a large mirror. She paused, wondering if it would be possible… wondering if she should.
Tired and sitting down heavily on the small stool, her hands shaking, Hermione raised her hands to her face and tenderly found the edge of the bandage and slowly began to unravel it. The fabric fell away in small strips and finally her face and eyes were free. Opening her eyes slowly, cautiously, unsure of how much she would see today, she faced her horribly blurry reflection in the mirror.
Gripping the edge of the vanity, Hermione leaned in. The shapes and shadows she had begun to see now had some color and definition. Everything out of her immediate field of vision was still a messy blur but the details before her sharpened as she moved forward and focused. Her nose nearly to the glass, she could make out the sight of her own face and a sob of anger and grief broke from her throat…
Her hair had been pulled out of one side and had been growing back in choppy lengths and she ran a hand through it forlornly. The bandages had been taken from her face but injuries were still in various states of healing… Ugly, horrible bruises of previously mangled skin and broken bones across her cheek and jaw and temple marred her face. She could see the faded white marks of magical stitching in distressing crisscrosses across her flesh. She looked like a stitched up ragdoll. One eye was bloodshot, the side she had been kicked… and she could make out deep scarring around her eyes…
She regretted trying to look at herself and she slumped forward, burying her face in her hands and sobbing uncontrollably for all she had suffered and survived… The memories sweeping back of the fear, the pain, the despair of being left for dead in a mangled bloody heap...
She didn’t know how long she sat there before the mirror, her head resting on her now crossed forearms, tears pooling on the wooden surface of the vanity. But before too long a voice from behind her jolted her from her self pitying reverie.
“The scars will fade.”
She gasped at the spoken assurance and her head snapped up as two strong but gentle hands rested firmly on her shoulders. She looked up, squinting into the reflection of the mirror, unable to see much behind her. He was tall and had pulled the hood of his cloak up over himself to obscure his face. But she could make out a lean form and broad shoulders.
“You’re back.” she whispered. She swallowed hard, closing her eyes in relief as she reached back to cover one of his hands with hers. “I’m so glad.”
But as she collected herself, taking deep steadying breaths she heard the faint sound of slow labored breathing. Her brow furrowed and she turned towards him, taking both of his hands in hers. “And you’re hurt.”
“No.” he said tightly, but she could hear it in his voice.
“Come, sit down.” she stood cautiously leaning heavily against the vanity and tugged his hand forward towards the edge of the bed. Or at least what she thought she remembered was the direction of her bed.
But he protested. “I need to start-”
“Sit and rest. Please.” she entreated. “I won’t go more blind if you wait another hour or two.”
She tugged him again towards the bed, her other hand outstretched as she moved towards it and he relented and they sat down beside each other and she felt the breath flee his lungs quietly.
“Do you have injuries that need tending?” she asked, afraid to touch him in any exploratory searching. She could see pale hands and dark robes but she did not wish to risk harming him more. “Should Mitzy-”
“No. No injuries, I… I was injured,” he confessed, keeping his face turned, not giving her the barest glimpse of his features to try and make out, “But there is nothing to do but wait it out.” he breathed slowly and patted her hand. “I’ll be well.”
A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed. “Thank you.” she said quietly. “Thank you for taking this risk to help me.” she clasped his hand in both of hers in earnest. “I… I know it seems ridiculous given that I barely know you but… I think if I learned something tragic had happened to you…” she shook her head sadly. “I would be very overcome. I don’t even know your name. Who would I grieve?”
His response seemed laced with soft amazement. “Would you? Grieve me?”
She smiled. “Is it so hard to imagine?”
“Yes.” he answered matter of factly.
She squeezed his hand and straightened, wondering what demons haunted this man that even after giving aid to her in the way he had, it was strange to him that news of his death would be anything less than deeply distressing. “Well I would. Terribly. And simply have to memorialize you in my mind as ‘Unidentified Hooded Stranger’.”
She heard him laugh quietly and then with some difficulty he stood. “You should rest your eyes. I’ll be back in a bit with the next dose of potions when they’re ready.”
She nodded and folded her hands as he moved towards the door, simply a shadowy blur in the far reaches of her sight.
But just before he stepped into the hallway he stopped and seemed to turn back. “And… you may call me Luke. If you absolutely must have something to call me.”
Hermione smiled. She took note of the “you may call me” phrase, understanding it wasn’t necessarily his true name. A nickname perhaps, or the name of someone close to him. But it was something, and at the very least superior to “Oh. You.”
“Very well.” she said aloud. “Thank you... Luke.”
And with that she was left alone in the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Luke” had indeed brought the fresh potions as he’d promised and Hermione was encouraged to hear that he sounded better than before. He applied fresh salves and potions and re-wrapped her eyes and sat with her for a while after.
“You seem overly fatigued.” he mentioned as he sat with her beside her bed. “Did your unassisted venture from your bed tax you?”
“Oh, no.” she said disappointed. “I mean yes but…” she sighed and confessed. “I had found some books on a shelf on the wall and… I thought since I could see directly in front of my face I might attempt and… well all it did was give me a migraine.”
He chuckled. “Remember what I said about overachieving?”
She bit the inside of her lip. “I… may have tried to cast magic. I know you said not to but…” she sighed. “It didn’t work anyway. Not even a little.”
Instead of scolding, he sounded concerned. “Show me.”
Hermione was loath to relive the humiliation again but she obliged him, feeling for her wand on the side table and trying to cast her favorite bluebell flames charm. She felt a small tingle in her hand but that was as far as it went as she felt no magic move through her wand, or the manifestation of the flames.
She hung her head in disappointment, determined not to let the tears she felt brimming in her eyes fall. She felt his hand cover hers over her wand. “Again,” he ordered softly.
She didn’t know what he was looking for as he held firmly to her wrist as she gripped her wand’s handle and tried to cast again. It was futile and she experienced the same non result. She heard him make a quiet noise of thoughtfulness and study and she swallowed hard.
“It’s not a good sign is it?” she said sadly.
She heard a downcast sigh. “Your reaction in the alley was violent, Hermione. Your core suffered greatly. The magic is still there. It’s just... struggling to come back to the surface. It has wrapped itself around you to try and protect and heal your body and your mind. I did tell you it could take time…”
The image of some magical force inside her quivering in terror, tail between its legs, as it clung to her body wondering what the hell had happened she found strangely amusing. “I suppose I just hoped… that it wouldn’t be quite so long. I mean if I can’t cast magic how can I defend myself against those who can? The idea of being helpless while all my friends have to protect me… its hard to explain.”
Before the wizard could respond, she heard a quiet pop. “Tea, master. Miss.”
“Yes, thank you Mitzy you may leave it.” there was another pop and the sound of clinking china. “We can try certain restorative potions,” he offered.
“Like “magic me more”.” she asked blandly, taking a cup when she felt it brush her fingertips, “Isn’t that for aging wizards regressing in magical ability?”
He chuckled at her mildly petulant tone. “It will have the same effect.”
She sighed, her thoughts turning painfully dark and reproachful. Perhaps it was the thought of what had led to such injuries and difficulties, the hatred, bigotry and violence… “Some would say this is because I’m a muggleborn and never should have had magic to begin with. A blight and a birth defect rightfully taken out of commission…”
Hermione pressed her hand to her suddenly aching head, laying her apparently now useless wand aside with a clatter of frustration and taking a sip of her tea.
“Some might,” he admitted. “But. You are Hermione Granger and you do not ascribe to such foolish notions of inferiority.”
“No.” she acknowledged. And then with an amused snort. “I didn't go to sleep and become Lucius Malfoy overnight.”
There was a sudden harsh choking sound as the wizard apparently breathed in his drink.
“Oh, good god, are you alright?” she asked, concerned.
“Yes.” he said, hoarsely coughing another few times.
They fell into silence for a moment and then she asked him anxiously. “How can you be sure the magic is still there? That I didn't... somehow turn myself into a squib.”
“That’s not how magic works,” he laughed quietly.
“I know.” she groaned. “I’m being ridiculous, I know.”
“Uncertain. Maybe a bit desperate. Not ridiculous.” She felt his hand again, comforting this time, on hers. “You are afraid. But I am here for you. And I know it is still there because I can feel it in you.”
She smiled shyly, returning the pressure of his hand. “Thank you.”
There was a pause. “You are tired,” he stated.
“Yes.” She admitted. “I suppose I should have waited but... Patience has never been one of my strong suits.”
She heard the sound of the chair moving. “Well. Let this be a warning to you, to rest.”
She nodded with a quiet smile as he left. Even though she knew he was correct and that she desperately needed rest, her mind was fully engaged and she couldn’t help wanting to spring to her feet and keep at it. But her body was uncooperative, her dexterity failed, and she could only sit in her bed sulking silently at her failure. The jeering words of the assailant holding her wand over her returned to her memory. “What are you without this?! Nothing!”
What was she without magic? She had been so proud, pleased, maybe even a bit smug at the knowledge she was a witch when she was a child. No more was she just gangly, awkward, bookish, frizzy haired Granger. She was a witch. Was this her punishment for youthful hubris? What if she’d damaged herself beyond repair? Regressed herself back to remedial magic?
“It is still there because I can feel it in you.”
She held onto that assurance. It was anecdotal at best but it was all she had. And later when she was tired of thinking, of twiddling her thumbs, of listening to the terrible but slowly improving state of affairs outlined on the radio, supper was through, and the chiming of the clock told her of the late hour, she asked Mitzy for a dreamless sleep potion and laid down in an attempt to at least rest for the evening.
“You are afraid. But I am here for you.”
Her eyes began to feel heavy even behind the bandaging, and she let that quiet assurance from a stranger’s lips ease her mind.
Chapter 6: Sacrificial Magic
Summary:
While Hermione’s caretaker thinks of a plan to help her recover her use of magic, Hermione unwittingly comes across a few clues to his identity.
Notes:
Will she honor his desire for secrecy or try to dig? As always, thank you for your faithful readership.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Darkness on the edge. Shadows where I stand.
I search for the time, on a watch with no hands.
I want to see you clearly. Come closer than this.
But all I remember, are the dreams in the mist.”
“These Dreams”, Heart
Morning came soon enough and Hermione felt a moment of disorientation at waking sightless from the bandages, but slowly stretched, pushed herself up and remembered her current condition. For a moment she thought she heard piano music again drifting up from somewhere in the house, but then as she sighed tiredly she heard the door creak open.
“Good morning, miss.” said Mitzy the elf, “Mitzy has brought miss her breakfast and tea.”
“Oh thank you, Mitzy.” she said gratefully. “I’m starving more than usual.”
“Miss slept longer than usual with the dreamless sleep. It is nearly ten in the morning. Is miss feeling better today with a good rest?”
Hermione thought carefully. “Yes, I think I do. My eyes ache but that's been usual.” But she did feel more rested, and not nearly as melancholy as she had the evening before.
“Yes, poor miss.” the elf was shuffling about and Hermione heard the clank and clutter of china, potion bottles and trays. “Mitzy will take care of miss’ eyes today.”
Hermione had come to adore the elf, they had spent so much time together she would even go so far as to call her a friend of sorts. But an undeniable feeling of disappointment trickled through her. “Oh? Is your master gone this morning?”
“Something very important to tend to miss.” the elf replied as Hermione felt her small hands working to undo the bandages. “Master will return soon.”
I hope he’s not going anywhere dangerous again. Hermione thought, anxiety twisting in her stomach.
“How long have I been here, Mitzy?” she asked curiously as the elf applied the usual potions and salves to her slowly healing eyes. Time had become an abstract concept, impossible to gauge as she had been convalescing.
“This will be 6 weeks miss.” Mitzy answered.
Hermione blew out a breath. Six whole weeks. She had been conversing with vague messages with her friends to assure them she was still alive but after so much time it was no wonder written assurances weren’t quite enough to convince them. If she counted right, it would place the time around the beginning of August.
When Mitzy finished, Hermione opened her eyes slowly, pleased to see marked improvement from the previous week. She could even see the dark gray face and bright bulbous eyes of the elf peering at her anxiously, and some detail if she squinted. Hermione smiled. “Well hello there!” she said, “It's so nice to actually see you.”
The elf gave a small hop. “Miss can see better, can she? Mitzy is pleased miss! Poor miss was in a terrible state indeed. Master seemed sure the miss would recover but Mitzy doubted, miss!”
“Things are still very blurry. Details are a bit lacking.” Hermione said, “But I can see so much more color now.”
“Master has left new potions for miss.” Mitzy explained, pushing forward a small tray with her usual medicines, and a few new bottles.
“Ah yes.” she sighed. “For the magic problem.”
She wasn’t sure if it would help but at least it couldn’t hurt and she took them without augment.
“Master says miss should leave bandages off for a while.” the elf advised.
“Yes.” Hermione agreed. “I think I’m going to try sleeping without them too.”
“Very good miss. Mitzy will be busy for a while with the… with other guests. Is miss needing anything before Mitzy goes?”
“No no.” Hermione assured her with a wave of her hand. “No, do what you have to do. I’ll be fine. I can get around much better and I can see more of what’s in front of me, I’ll be alright left to my own devices for a bit.”
The elf still insisted on bringing her her breakfast and arranging the pillows behind her affectionately before patting her hand and then vanishing. She could see her tray clearly for once, and so there was no awkward fumbling for her breakfast of toast, fruit and eggs. She finished with her sustenance for the morning, drank the rest of her potions, and slowly and carefully made her way to the bathroom to use the facilities and wash her face. Unable to as of yet perform magic for cleansing charms, the elf had left mundane things for her like toothbrushes, washcloths and soaps, things Hermione was covetously grateful for, sparing her the frustration of having to rely on others for her own hygiene. She managed to brush her hair out, relieved and encouraged to see the missing bits had grown back enough to be gathered in a ponytail with the rest of it.
Left alone, Hermione walked slowly into the room she’d spent so much time in. She was better able to see detail as she drew closer to things. Ornate wood paneling and trim along the papered walls, the ivory and pastel pinks of the decor, the floral arrangements and paintings of peaceful landscapes. She found the window on the far side and with some gentle exploration found to be unlocked and she gave it a firm push and was rewarded with the pleasant feel of sun and breeze against her.
The direct light was more difficult on her eyes so she closed them briefly and looked down instead of out, greeted with the sight of large expanses of a multitude of shades of green, and splotches of colors that looked like roses. If she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, she swore she could smell them…
Maybe I could… just for a few moments?
She looked around her small space. Surely it couldn’t hurt to explore just a bit? She was stronger after all. Would it be a betrayal of trust to be found exploring the house, or just trying to step out into soft grass and natural air and light?
She made her way cautiously to the door, took the cool brass knob in her hand and opened it. She poked her head out into a mint green and white hallway and looked about, seeing no shadows or movement.
“Hello?” she called softly.
When no answer came, she stepped out, and expanded her knowledge of the space she occupied. She was in a hallway full of doors and she looked to her right and saw a staircase. Holding onto the trim along the wall for guidance and stability, she moved towards that destination. She saw a few portraits along the way. They didn’t speak but some seemed to be looking at her in mixtures of surprise to apathy. But it was one larger at the top of the stairs that caught her eye and caused her to pause.
Hermione leaned in to see the details of the painting with some difficulty. It was of a slender woman in a silver and sapphire blue ball gown. Her sharp angular face was pale against the dark background and brunette hair. The portrait looked at her with studious sweeping eyes, and she saw the eyes were an intense icy gray, or perhaps a very pale blue. It was hard to be sure in her current limited state…
But… There was something terribly unsettling about those eyes…
She squinted at the portrait, but when she couldn't place it, she decided to move on and she curled her hand around the smooth wooden railing of the staircase. She saw a splash of sunlight coming through what looked like a large, open, glass door below and she began to slowly descend the stairs. As she did, her heart pounded in surprise as she thought she heard the sound of a very young child laughing.
“H- hello?” Hermione called gently. “Is someone there?”
As she spoke she heard a hushed gasp and furtive whispering. She thought she heard, “No… uncle said no!” and then someone answering back, and a brief shadow as someone darted away from the doorway.
“Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone…”
But Hermione leaned too far. Moved too quickly, and she swallowed hard as she looked down and was hit with a sudden and strong wave of dizziness. The change of perspective sent her brain spiraling and she lost her balance. She tried to take a step, to regain her footing, but faltered, and before Hermione could think enough to regret her decision, her heel slipped on the edge and she was plummeting down the stairs…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione didn’t remember actually going down the stairs, let alone landing. She didn’t know if she hit her head, though the pounding and throbbing in her temple told her she had. Oh dear, how much damage had been done, how far back had her impulsive decision set her?!
She also didn’t know how long she had been laying haphazardly on the hardwood floor but she was aware of a distant shrieking in despair and the feeling of herself being lifted and cradled in someone’s arms. “Hermione?!” the familiar man’s voice called to her in the fog. “Hermione!”
She felt his hand against her face, his forearm supporting her head and neck and she swallowed, brow furrowed against the pain. All that came out at first was a groan but she heard the relieved breath from the wizard. “Oh, thank the gods.” he said quietly.
He cradled her face gently in his palm, brushing her hair from her eyes as she blinked up into the brightness and hurriedly closed them again. “Luke.” she whispered heavily. “I’m sorry I… I didn’t… who’s that screaming?”
“Mitzy.” he answered simply, “She arrived when I did, just in time to see you fall. Se – uh. Someone else is trying to calm her, intent as she is on punishing herself for her charge coming to harm.”
Hermione let her head fall against the crook of his arm and she moaned pitifully. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean… I truly didn’t mean to be such trouble. Please tell me she hasn't hurt herself. It wasn’t her fault, of course. It was just... The sun… the heat… the smell of the garden... it all felt so wonderful through the window.” she pressed a hand to her temple, nausea rolling through her. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh.” he crooned. “Hush now. She hasn’t hurt herself. But I fear you will have to put up with a fair bit of fretting, clucking and obsessing from her for the foreseeable future.”
She looked up, her vision ceasing its swimming finally and she smiled softly. “I can live with that.” she said. But she frowned as she squinted up at him into a nondescript sight of shadow and darkness. “Why can’t I see you?”
“My cloak is charmed,” he answered. “To defend against these incurable bouts of curiosity of yours. A garment coveted by spies and star crossed lovers.”
She smirked as much as her now aching face would allow. “You really are that determined not to let me know who you are.”
“It’s better for both of us this way. Trust me.” he replied.
She huffed. “Weirdly I do. I absolutely should not on any rational level but I do.”
“Well. Hold on to that irrationality.” He said as he shifted, positioning his arms under her knees and shoulders and she felt herself lifted from the floor.
Hermione was about to object, insist that she could make it on her own, but she was quickly made aware that wasn’t the case and she leaned tiredly against his shoulder, closing her eyes against the sway of motion.
“You could have killed yourself.” he admonished, and she could hear concern lacing his quiet tone.
“I know.” she acknowledged, flushing in a fair bit of shame at her foolishness. “I didn’t think I’d lose my balance that way. I suppose I thought I was better than I was… I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to–”
“Enough. I understand. You’ve been confined to such a small space for so long, its no wonder you’re becoming anxious. But now… rest.”
Reaching her room, he deposited her on her bed, insisting she remain there and Hermione didn’t argue. He sat with her, checking over her for injury or signs of worsening problems and declared her bruised but well enough with a breath of relief.
He left her in the care of Mitzy and his prediction about her fretting and obsessing was far from an over exaggeration. After apologizing repeatedly and shrilly for letting Hermione be injured and failing in her duty, and Hermione insisting to the elf, unsuccessfully, that it was her own impatient fault and not the elf’s, Mitzy set herself about the task of ensuring Hermione wanted for nothing and didn’t have to move a single muscle. Hermione was overwhelmed by the whirlwind little elf buzzing about her room, bringing meals, and tea and medications, fluffing pillows, bringing so many blankets she felt drowned by them, but Hermione bore it silently, guilty as she was for upsetting the poor creature, so she counted the discomfort her just desserts.
When morning came again, there was no one about, but a tea and breakfast tray was laid on her table, along with her litany of potions. When she had finished and went to the bathroom she was pleasantly surprised to find a hot steaming bath, fragrant soapy and strewn with herbs and healing flower petals. She supposed now that she was more in control of herself there were no concerns of her managing to pass out and drown herself and she stripped the shift from her and climbed cautiously and carefully into the ornate clawfoot tub. The bath was absolutely heavenly and as she felt the soreness and tightness in her muscles unraveling and fading she thought there must be restorative potions in the waters.
After some time she regretfully rose from the water, finding a large, sumptuously soft towel, and wrapping it around herself. She hesitated but stepped out carefully, cautious not to slip. As she exited the large bathroom, Mitzy appeared with more potions.
“Good morning miss! Mitzy is hoping Miss is feeling better today!”
“I am Mitzy, much.” Hermione told her, sitting down at the vanity. “Thank you.”
The elf tended dutifully to her eyes and then magically dried and straightened her hair, and Hermione was surprised and ecstatic to look into the mirror and to see things much more clearly. Sunlight still ached but she could see her face in the mirror and see the detail of everything around her without strain. Beyond that, the room was still quite blurred and unfocused but the progress gave her hope. Tears sprung to her eyes and Mitzy smiled excitedly, patting her hand. She was encouraged to see the bruises had faded, and all that was left marring her skin were the fading scars of mending and injury streaking across her cheekbone, jaw and temple.
As Mitzy was brushing and tying up Hermione’s hair, her newly improved eyes caught sight of something leaned against the mirror. A folded piece of parchment with a rose tied to the outside. Curious she lifted it, tugging at the dark green ribbon that secured the bloom and she lifted it, finding it thornless and soft and she raised it to her nose, breathing in the pleasant aroma.
Unfolding the parchment she was greeted with a bold, masculine script. It was difficult to focus her sight enough to read but she managed without having to ask Mitzy for help. “I am called away by necessity, but I will return.” the note read. “I would ask you to recall the result of your last solitary journey down the stairs, and to wait for my return before venturing out. Should you be anxious for the outdoors again, let this hold you over. As always, Mitzy will attend you as often as she is able. I will not be long. Luke.”
Hermione smiled at the soft petal, touching the velvet bloom gently before raising it to her nose again once more with closed eyes enjoying the scent.
Mitzy spoke, disturbing her reverie. “Master says miss will need this today now that miss is so much more recovered.”
Hermione turned, laying aside the note and the rose, to see Mitzy holding out a garment. It was a simple dress, a pretty pastel blue sundress with lace hem, the color reminding her of a robin’s egg she might find in the grass. With the snap of the elf’s fingers, Hermione was perfectly dry and wrapped in the soft flattering fabric. Soft cream colored flats were waiting for her and she slipped her feet into them. It felt positively heavenly to be in real clothing, to feel less like a bedridden patient and more a human being. She wanted to walk, but though she felt less pain, getting bathed and dressed seemed to tire her more and she had to sit a while and rest.
Hermione was sitting at the vanity again, dabbing some salves on her old injuries, and another to help soften the abused, healing flesh, when “Luke” returned a few hours later. She happened to catch movement reflected in the mirror as someone came into view and then suddenly ducked out again.
She smiled and put the jar down. “You could come in and we could introduce ourselves properly.”
“That would still be… unwise.” came the sound of his voice.
She sighed quietly. It was worth a try. She looked around and picked up a long length of clean unused bandaging, and slowly wrapped it around her eyes. “Alright. Come in.”
He entered. “I take it your sight has improved then?”
“Yes.” she said honestly, turning towards the sound of him. “Well enough. The light still hurts and my eyes ache if I try to focus too much.Things far away get blurry and I get headaches easily, but I can make out my room. Mitzy if she’s close enough. And a beautiful owl that likes to sit on my window. So… I could probably see you. Or enough of you at least.”
There was a long pause as he came closer. “You could have kept that to yourself… deceived me and satisfied your curiosity.”
She smiled uncomfortably. “I won’t lie. I was tempted. But… you have done me a favor by helping me. And not intentionally riddling out who you are is the only thing you’ve asked of me.”
Another pause. “Thank you.”
She nodded. “So. What took you away this morning? Or can’t you say?”
He didn’t speak immediately and instead came closer and took her hand in a gentlemanly gesture, tugging her to her feet. “A study of sorts. Ensuring I could manage to do what I aim to do.”
Hermione tilted her head curiously. “You’ve piqued my interest. What is it that you wish to do that requires such study?”
He now took both of her hands. “Something that, if done improperly, won’t hurt either of us at all. If done correctly… will help you cast spells again. I know you have been practicing. And that even with the magical restorative potions, it is not going well.”
Hermione dropped her head regretfully. “No it's not. But how can you help?”
“It is a… a magical transplant of sorts. Magic recognizes magic. Responds to it. Seeks it... I would use mine in a spell to coax yours to the surface. Encourage it out of its dormancy…”
Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. “Like jumping a car battery.”
“A what?” he asked in confusion.
“Uh, nevermind.” she said. So, he wasn’t familiar with muggles. Likely a pureblood then. Interesting. No. Stop. she admonished herself with difficulty as the wheels turned in her head. You just told him you wouldn’t…
Aloud she continued… “I’ve heard of the spell in my advanced textbooks… But I’ve never seen it done. Its sacrificial magic… You’d be weakening yourself to help me.”
“Only temporarily.”
Hermione thought this over. “And you’re sure this won’t hurt us?”
“I’m sure. And it will only take a bit of my magic to do what must be done. But…” he squeezed her hands. “You must be willing. If you shut me out before the connection can succeed, it cannot work, your magic will reject me and we will not be able to try again. Ever.”
Hermione shifted uncomfortably. It sounded involved. She had told herself and him that she trusted him… but could she really say she trusted him that much? Letting others take control, it wasn't a feat that came naturally. She supposed there was nothing to lose. At least nothing to lose besides a chance at bringing her magic back from the stupefied standstill it seemed to have been stunned into… There was work to be done beyond these walls, and she needed to be able to do it. How long would she be waiting without this so-called jump start? It was not complicated magic, but it was strong, and who could be sure she could find anyone who would first know the spell, and be able to cast it?
“Alright.” she breathed, nodding. “What do we have to do?”
“It will require skin to skin.” he told her.
Hermione stiffened. “Oh um…” her cheeks flamed. “Wait, I… I don’t want to do sex magic.”
She heard a deep, low laugh. “No. Not that sort of skin to skin.” he released her hands, and she stood a bit uselessly as she heard a sweep of fabric, maybe of him removing his outer robes, and then he took one of her hands again. Hermione held her breath as he guided her touch to his chest. “Place your hand over my heart.”
She splayed her hand over him at the parted fabric of his shirt. She suddenly felt breathless as she could feel the heated, bare skin of his body, feel his chest rise and fall gently with each breath, feel his heart beating under her palm. She startled and sucked in a quick, quiet breath when she felt his warm hand on her breast bone where the bodice of her dress dipped down and she knew her own heart must be pounding wildly…
Hermione swallowed. “What now?” she breathed.
She felt him step closer, drawing his wand, she could feel his hip press only slightly against her waist as he closed the distance. “Now we begin.”
Hermione felt his other hand move, drawing his wand down across himself in a slow, deliberate motion. Then, she felt his wand at her forehead, dragging slowly down the center of her body. Down her throat, between her breasts, stopping at her navel. Then the touch of his wand was gone and instead she felt a warm, tingling of power settle over them as he spoke quietly and repetitively.
He continued to speak a few more moments, low and unhurried, old incantations. Something about true intentions, and unbinding the soul and… oh she didn’t know, she was far too dizzy and distracted to focus on the latin. She felt a pressure on her lungs and she could feel his own breath coming faster and more ragged under her hand as the places they touched heated and burned. She felt his fingertips flex on her flesh, felt his other hand move to her hip, his forehead dropped to rest gently against hers as she felt him sway slightly from the drain of magic. Her body warmed and flushed at the contact…
“Don’t back away.” he warned quietly. “Keep your hand on me.”
She nodded… And then she felt it. A sudden increased heat, a spark of power that began in her hand over his heart… it traveled slowly through her arm and she felt a buzzing in her temples, like the fuzzy, heady feeling of drinking one too many glasses of wine. The feeling of power bloomed, spreading sharply through her chest and spreading through her torso, growing and intensifying. Instinctively she wanted to pull away from it, to retreat from the foreign strangeness.
His hand tightened on her hip. “Don’t.” he said gruffly, almost panting. She wondered if he was feeling the same instinct to flee, the same breathless surprise. “Stay.”
She moved the hand not pressed to his chest to his shoulder to steady herself and his hand slid from her hip to her back to hold her firmly. The magic and power intensified, tightening in her belly, and around her spine, seeming to pull her inward into herself. The pressure was uncomfortable and pleasant all at once and an actual moan broke free of her lips as her head fell back, the feeling knifing down through her core, pooling in her womb, shooting sharply across every nerve and blood vessel...
She wanted to run, to pull away from the feeling but she could feel it working, feel the sleeping, shell-shocked remnant of her magic responding to a substance it recognized, uncoiling in her and reaching out in curiosity for the foreign magic that moved through her. She needed a distraction. Something to ground her.
She swallowed. “Can I…” she panted. “Can I touch you?”
“Touch me?” he asked in confusion, his voice heavy, his heart pounding erratically and forcefully against her palm.
“Yes… um…” Her hand not pressed to his chest reached up and hovered near his face.
They were already touching, but it was a practical touch, demanded by the spell. What she wanted seemed to her more intimate somehow, requiring further permission… There was silence and stillness, nothing save this fiery, pulsing power moving between them, and she wasn't sure he would allow it. But then she felt his own free hand leave her back and come against her palm. He took her hand and laid it against his face. She slowly moved her fingertips gently over him, exploring his features. She could feel a strong jawline and cheekbones, straight strong nose, smooth face, without wrinkle, except soft laugh lines at his eyes. She touched soft silken hair, either short or tied back tightly, she couldn’t be sure. There was the ghost of a days growth of beard over his face. She briefly lamented the lack of detail. The reality she would never be able to pick him out of a crowd. To see him across the way at the train station and say ‘that’s him!”. But she leaned into his embrace, the firm feeling of his body, the by now familiar scent of his after shave, and as she trailed her fingers down his neck, smoothed her palm over broad shoulders she wondered if somehow… she might. But it was then she could feel the tension in him.
“I’m sorry.” she breathed heavily. “I’ve… I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” he asked, his voice thick. “I… no.”
“Then?” she pressed.
His hand came to her cheek, gentle, tender. His thumb grazed her lips…
But the power of the spell spiked sharply and suddenly and she gave a soft cry of surprise. Her nails dug into the flesh of his chest and she leaned into him as the heat intensified and left her whimpering. Her breasts pressed against his chest as she took her hand and gripped his bicep for stability. Gods, his body felt good. Firm, strong and unyielding and she knew he was affected, his form shaking slightly as he dragged ragged breaths into his lungs.
She gave a small shriek of surprise, feeling like she was going to combust as her own magic responded and intensified, joining with his. It felt like he was literally inside of her in the most intimate way she could imagine… Despite what the gossips insisted in their long list of causes for teasing and insults, she was not an ignorant, passionless ingenue. No, she hadn’t “gone as far” as some girls, but more for lack of opportunity and desire than any old fashioned ideas about virginity. She had indulged with Victor in more than one kiss and entirely pleasant stolen moments in a stairwell or two. A summer fling back home… And poor Ron, she’d not thought of romantically in weeks, the fast paced chaos of the aftermath of their nightmarish years leaving little time for much anything beyond a few moments of hand holding and kisses. But still… she knew what it felt like to be physical with a man. But she had never experienced anything like this. His magic spiked and spiraled through her, burning in her belly. It wasnt meant to be sexual. She could feel the platonic intent in his magic but the result was the same. To have a man’s very essence, a part of his soul twining through hers, soothing, coaxing, pleading and to feel hers responding... It was heady, powerful and strangely erotic.
And she was desperate for an outlet.
She deeply hoped it didn't matter what kind of skin to skin it had to be as she leaned forward, her hand coming to the back of his head. Tied back. His hair was tied back, her fuzzy, foggy brain realized and then conscious thought ceased entirely as she moved towards him, pressing her lips to his. He responded immediately as her hand left his chest and cupped his face. His arms came around her with a groan and he pulled her to him tightly. Her whole body was shaking and trembling, he deepened the kiss, and his magic felt like flames. Or hers did. She couldn’t be sure at this point. She arched against him, the heat knifing downward, pooling between her legs and suddenly the feeling changed to one of desire as she clung to him. His hands roamed over her and hers over him…
“Hermione.” he gasped sharply against her lips. “Hermione, cast something. Try it.”
Casting. Magic. Right. The whole reason they’d started this. Her magic. She could barely think but she took one violently trembling hand and fumbled for her wand in the sash of the dress and, still shaking, raised it. She couldn’t think of anything eloquent so she kept it simple and tried to cast a cooling charm. It worked. Or, she thought it did. She felt the magic pull and move through her hand, through the wand, and perhaps it felt a few degrees less scorching.
Luke broke the kiss… slowly she felt a calming come over her as she felt his magic slowly retreating and growing more distant. But just as she feared the severing of the connection entirely, he pulled her back. The overwhelming power was gone, leaving her feeling raw, exposed… but he kissed her again and she sagged against him, her body still shaking, her knees weak, his arms holding her up firmly.
“I’m sorry.” he groaned against her throat as she pressed tightly into him, feeling the evidence of his desire pulsing wildly against her belly. “I’m sorry, the… the spell can become intense. I didn’t realize just how intense…”
She swallowed and shook her head. “No, it's alright.”
“No.” he argued, straightened, trying to put distance between them but his hands were still gripping her shoulders. “I didn’t mean for this… This is improper. You are…”
“I am of age.” she assured him, still feeling a bit bleary and unsteady.“I’m 19.”
“And I’m... “ she perked up for another clue but he caught himself. “Significantly older than that… But you are under my care and protection, it breaks every unspoken law of hospitality… “ he finally let her go, and Hermione confessed she felt colder. “The effect… is not what I expected.”
Hermione ran her hands through her hair, trying to collect herself. “Have you ever done that before?”
“Not with that result,” he admitted. “But I... I imagine the effects will wear off... Try again.”
She turned to the sound of his voice. “What?”
“Cast something. Without me.”
“Oh.” she breathed, feeling her wits slowly returning. “Right.” she took her wand once more and cast a simple lumos. Even with the blindfold of bandages she could see - and feel - a flare of light.
“How do you feel?” he asked quietly.
“Tired.” she confessed, “But…” she smiled. “But wonderful.”
It was a difficult feeling to describe. Being so helpless and hopeless, not understanding what exactly it was that had happened to her, how she had managed to strip away her own magical power and then to have it all at once to be coursing through her again.
“You should rest a bit before we try and test your ability further.” he told her.
She wanted to keep going. But she begrudgingly admitted that she couldn’t keep pushing herself beyond her limits or she could put herself right back where she began. He bid her a good afternoon and given the intimacy they had just shared it seemed strange to be using such polite, removed language with each other, but perhaps it was best to simply try and move beyond the surprising and intense effect of the spell.
“Luke.” she called, and his footsteps paused. “Thank you. I… I don’t know how to thank you.”
There was a pause. “There is no need. But… you are welcome.”
She heard his steps fade down the hallway as the door closed and Hermione pulled the blindfold free, sinking down onto the edge of her bed with an overwhelmed breath. She could barely track what had happened, let alone how to process any of it. She couldn't help a quiet, head shaking laugh, recalling her mother's warnings when she was young to not talk to strangers... She seemed to be taking that particular admonition to a new, insane level...
She didn’t want to sleep. Knew she never could with her nerves frayed as they were. But she laid down on the bed wearily, and for the next couple of hours, she tried not to think about how the wizard that just left her room had felt pressed against her body, how it had felt to kiss him. She couldn't know that below stairs in a study, the wizard in question was struggling very hard to forget the same…
Notes:
Well... I said there'd be no ACTUAL sex. I didn't say there'd be nothing to tease the appetite. It'd be crazy if there was like..... a sequel or something with way more steaminess in it. :)
Chapter 7: A Time to Trust
Summary:
Hermione learns some distressing news, as her wizard friend continues to help her get back on her feet.
Notes:
Trigger Warning: the attempted rape of Pansy is mentioned briefly but thats it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
I cried a tear, you wiped it dry
I was confused, you cleared my mind
I sold my soul, you bought it back for me
And held me up and gave me dignity
Somehow you needed me
You Needed Me”, Anne Murray
The spell and her newly re-acquired ability to use her magic must have tired her more than she’d thought for she had apparently slept through the evening and straight through to morning. She awoke sideways across her bed, shoes still on, sun dress wrinkled and rumpled. She rose in a fair bit of confusion, hearing the same distant piano music she was becoming accustomed to, before the previous night's events came back to her.
She was nervous when she picked up her wand to cast some simple charms to fix her hair and the dress and she breathed a tearful sigh of relief when it worked without incident. But an attempted patronus failed and left her winded so she vowed to try again later. Mitzy brought her breakfast, potions and tea as usual. But Hermione asked the elf about the music.
“Is there a piano here, Mitzy?” she asked, “Who is playing?”
“There are a few people here who play miss. Not often.” the elf answered, “The master at present.” Then the elf smiled. “He has not played in a very long time.”
Hermione looked off in the direction of the music. “It's very pleasant.” she said, remembering better times with her mother, and with her friends playing instrumental pieces and laughing to showtunes...
“Master has invited miss to join him as she wishes.”
Hermione looked at the elf, the idea of getting out of this room absolutely invigorating and she scrambled to her feet. “Yes please! Oh.” she frowned and then looked around for the length of clean bandaging she’d been using as a blindfold.
Mitzy smiled. “Miss is very good and kind.” The elf snapped her fingers and instead of rough bandaging, transfigured the fabric into a simple comfortable black blindfold, cool and silken against her skin as she tied it.
Thus prepared, Hermione let herself be led carefully and slowly down the staircase. She felt the sunlight warm her skin briefly as she assumed they passed the large glass door and the elf led her by the hand to the left aways. The piano music grew closer and the elf finally paused and opened what sounded like quite a large set of doors.
“Master.” Mitzy greeted.
The piano music stopped and then came the sound of someone standing. “Thank you Mitzy.” and then, his tone more affectionate as he addressed her. “Hermione. Good morning.”
She heard the quick sound of his steps and he took her hand and she was surprised as he raised it to his lips in a chaste and gentlemanly kiss. A shiver traveled up her arm.
“Luke. Good morning.” she smiled nervously, her belly fluttering. She barely heard the elf quietly and discreetly closing the door. “I was sorry to have slept through the afternoon. Mitzy said yesterday morning you might have something in mind that needed proper clothing.” she smirked.
“Indeed.” he admitted “But, it could stand to wait. I wanted to bring you here when you were well-”
Hermione breathed happily. “It's a library!”
She felt him turn towards her in surprise.
“I can smell them! The books!” she said excitedly.
“You can… smell them?” he asked incredulously.
She laughed. “Yes, haven’t you ever noticed how unique old books smell?”
He laughed. “Of course I… I just never stopped to give it much thought.” The wizard tucked her hand on his arm and led her carefully into the room. “I thought perhaps you might enjoy tea in the garden today. The fresh air would do you well, and afterwards I will take my leave and you may explore the library at your leisure.”
“Thank you.” she smiled. “That all sounds wonderful. I would love tea in the garden… Mitzy says that was you, playing the piano. You play beautifully.”
He guided her to a bench. “Why don’t you sit?”
She nodded tiredly. “I haven’t done much walking today yet, the trip down the stairs seems to have worn me down.”
“You get stronger every day, and go farther” he reminded her.
She smiled and nodded her agreement. “Thanks to you.”
He did not seem to know how to respond to her quiet thanks and after a moment’s pause asked her “Do you know how to play?”
“I do.” she said, brushing her fingers across the keys gently. “I learned it when I was a girl.”
“Would you like to try?”
“What, blindfolded?” she laughed. “Well…”
There were a few pieces of music she was sure she had retained the muscle memory of. She tested a few keys and then drifted into a slow and cautious rendition of Chopin’s Nocturna. “You were playing Moonlit Sonata.” she said. “Thats a difficult piece. I’ve never managed the third movement. Never practiced enough I suppose.”
“Its been so long I wasn’t sure I could still.” he replied.
Hermione paused, touching the space on the bench beside her, inviting him to join her. She fumbled one of the notes briefly when she felt his thigh brush hers as he joined her but she collected herself. “Do you know this one?”
“I do.” he replied, and she was surprised how easy it was to anticipate him as they played the notes together.
“This is one of my favorites.” Hermione confessed. But thoughts of the not so distant past clouded her thoughts and she paused, tears springing to her eyes. “I used to play with my mother.”
Luke paused beside her. “They have passed on?” he asked gently.
Hermione straightened, folding her hands. “They may as well have.” Hermione paused. Wanting to confess the truth. But unsure if it was too much, even now. “I… I obliviated them and sent them into hiding. To keep them from the Death Eaters.”
There was a long pause beside her and then she felt his fingers tighten over her clasped hands. “I’m sorry. That must have been terribly painful.”
She took a shallow, shuddering breath. “It was. I hope… someday I can go look for them but… not until this chaos dies down at the very least.” She raised a hand to her forehead. “Ugh. Chaos that I should be out there helping to solve.”
“Well.” she felt Luke stand and reach down to take her hand. “Then that brings us to my reason for asking you to join me here. Let us get you back to fighting form.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. “What are we going to do?”
She let herself be guided through the room and then she heard him open a door. She was immediately greeted with warm air and the feel of sun on her skin and she smiled. She could smell flowers, the grass, hear the chirping of birds overhead. Their footsteps echoed on what sounded like stone and then he stopped them.
“Here. Slip off your shoes.”
She did so, her bare feet chilling on the cool terrace stone. At his prompting she stepped down one short step into soft grass and she sighed. “That feels wonderful.”
“A moment to ground yourself.” he said as she felt him move behind her. “Close your eyes.”
She felt him take off the blindfold she was wearing and exchange it for a new one. And when she slowly opened her eyes again she saw it was a slightly porous fabric. She couldn’t see beyond it but it let in more of the sunlight. “We’re going to accustom your eyes to stronger light. If you begin to have a headache or pain in your eyes, tell me and we’ll stop.”
“Ok.” she nodded. The ache was not anything beyond what was usual which she counted as a win. So at her request they walked at a rational pace around the grounds, her arm linked with his. She wasn’t sure how long she managed to walk… they chatted about inconsequential things as he guided her around the varieties of flowers she could smell and touch. She could hear the trickling of a fountain and as they walked and talked together, she realized as much as she liked seeing where she was going... She liked his company more at present…
She cleared her throat, trying to keep her thoughts from straying into unwise territory. “So… can you tell me where we are? Or is that a clue too many?”
She heard him chuckle. “Wales. And good luck cross checking names of all the magical property owners.”
Hermione couldn’t help a laugh. “I wasn't planning to, I promise. I just wondered how far we were from anything familiar… Do you like it here?”
“At times.” he answered after a moment of thought. “It is not the home I was most familiar with but… it has been a respite and a refuge when needed.”
It must have been a while that they continued on their way because before she knew it she felt exhausted, and before she could think to stop and rest, her step began to waver and she fell. But her companion was there as always and caught her firmly around the middle as her knees buckled. She gripped his forearm tightly, her frame cradled against the hard wall of his chest.
“Alright, that’s enough now I think.” she could hear the smile in his voice.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks and everywhere she touched him having no choice but to lean heavily against him as she regained her balance. He felt fit and imposing. His frame dwarfed hers. But he was gentle. Still so gentle. Her breasts tingled pressed against his chest and warmth sparked and ran through her like a buzzing electrical current… She realized with a deepening blush he was not unaffected, and the current of energy pulsed and pooled in her belly, an ache settling firmly. Oh dear.
The longer he held her the deeper the ache burned until he cleared his throat and moved away the only part of him touching her his hands as he held her steady. She wondered if they were still suffering these effects from the spell they’d taken part in…
She wobbled as she tried to get her balance and so without further preamble he stooped and lifted her up easily.
“Oh you don’t have to… to carry me.” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear nervously.
“You’re exhausted. And its impolite to levitate a lady if it can be helped.”
“Do I have to go back to my room so soon?” she asked, disappointed.
He chuckled. “No. Come.” He set her down in a chair and it felt cool, like a wrought iron garden chair.
They spent the rest of the time taking tea there and Hermione felt relaxed. Her sight, though challenging, was still much improved from black nothing. Her magic had returned and only needed a bit of exercise. Her injuries mostly better save the tiredness and stiffness. Her energy and stamina were a different story but she was getting there. Soon she’d be perfectly well enough to go back to the fight without being a hindrance or liability and the thought brought both excitement… and a subtle but undeniable regret. Her fingertips brushed the edge of the fabric over her eyes as she debated whether to ask the question burning in her mind.
“Luke.” she said to her faceless companion, paused with her tea cup in her hands. “I appreciate everything you’re doing to help me… But I… I imagine soon I’ll be just as capable as I ever was.”
“Yes,” he replied reservedly. “Soon. You’ll be returning to your loved ones. Ready to… duel your way through London once more.”
She smiled. “But I can’t help but wonder… is there any possibility…” she sighed. “I mean. Are there any circumstances you can see… that would allow you to tell me who you are? Your name at the very least?”
There was a long silence as she waited for his answer. “No.” he said regretfully. “Hermione… I know you must think it is only selfish interests that have me keeping myself from you but -”
She hated the quiet undercurrent of pain in that statement. “That's not what I think at all.”
He paused at her denial.
“I - I don’t.” she repeated emphatically. “I know… I know there are others here. Others that for whatever reason you care about. I know if it were known who and where you are, people could be hurt. Now, its true enough I can only take your word that they are innocent but I know there are children here, and they are. Innocent that is. But… I only wondered. If there might be a time you could see yourself trusting me as they trust you… As I have had to trust you.”
There was another pause. “I do trust you. Hermione I… I have come to know you in a way that… is strange and thorough and… I’ve come to see a young woman of deep passion and determination and… I believe you would not betray me. But if you were to know and it ever came out that you did… Those that haunt me would not be merciful to you for your silence.”
Hermione frowned sadly. That was a possibility she had not entertained. “Then I'm sorry for it.”
“As am I.” he admitted, sounding pained. “More than I thought I would be.”
She heard him set down his tea cup. “I’ll leave you with Mitzy. Spend as much time in the gardens and the library as you wish. Be careful of straining your eyes. Tomorrow we will begin retraining you in your magical skills.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Do you think I need to?”
“You don’t realize how draining your magic can affect your ability to fight until you try. I don’t want to put you back in danger with shaky dueling skills.”
He left her then and Hermione was left alone. She couldn’t quite name this heavy, sad regret that was settling over her but she tried to swallow it down. Mitzy arrived in a few minutes to help her, and much as Hermione wanted to look at the grounds, she decided taking the blindfold off in the full sun would be unwise. Instead she waited until the elf had led her back inside and removed the blindfold there. And her previous melancholy was momentarily forgotten.
It was no Hogwarts but it was far more sizable then she would have expected for what she assumed was a country house. The space was larger than her entire childhood home, but it seemed to serve multiple purposes. It was a bright room, the door to the terrace they’d gone through part of a high wall of beautifully paned glass. The piano she’d sat at beside him was in the center of the room along with expensive looking furniture and a sideboard. Greenery hung in pots suspended with lovely macrame plant hangers and the tall gleaming bookshelves were stuffed with selections, spiraling staircases on each side of the room to reach a second floor of bookshelves along the balcony that surrounded the room.
Mitzy was a perfectly amiable tour guide and making her selections of books to go with her back to her room was an absolutely agonizing decision but an hour later she had a short stack of collections and tomes, and was surprised to have found a few muggle works as well. She was content but then on the way out of the library, she saw a shelf that was labeled “Prophets”. “Mitzy do you save the Daily Prophets?”
“Yes Miss for a time, before they’re moved or destroyed.”
“Do you think it would be too much trouble to have some of the editions from the time I’ve been here?” she asked. “I don’t expect Luke to read the entire thing after all and I’d like to know what I’ve missed.”
The elf looked at her in confusion. “Luke… oh!” her eyes brightened, “Yes, miss’ name for the master. Yes of course miss. Mitzy can do that for Miss Hermione.”
And so she returned to her room. The events of the afternoon had left her absolutely exhausted and finding the original black satin blindfold on her nightstand she donned it willingly to block out the light, closed the curtains over the window, took a headache potion the thoughtful elf had brought for her and laid down in her bed. Tomorrow, she’d start training and hopefully be back to her old self in no time at all.
She let that thought comfort her to sleep, but at least it was only a short lie down and she didn’t sleep away the entire afternoon as before. Her supper was waiting for her when she awoke, feeling refreshed, her eyes less pained. She finished the generous portions of food and then saw the stacks of Prophets and books on the writing desk. Much as she wanted to delve into the books, she took the Prophet’s first. If she would truly be returning home soon, then she wanted to be up to date on everything that had transpired.
Reading proved to be difficult and her head ached more the longer she tried to focus on the words so she settled for skimming the pages for important bits. For the most part it was all pretty much how she expected it. Death Eaters captured or still on the run, inside attacks at the ministry and hospital, vigilante justice on both sides, chaos and fear in the streets… Thankfully there were no more names she knew among the dead, for it didn’t seem there were further attacks after the one on her. It wasn’t until she picked up one particular edition that she knew why…
Hermione’s heart slammed to a stop, unprepared as she was to be suddenly faced with pictures of her attackers. Or at least four of them. It seemed 3 of the 7 had escaped the alley, she would have to look at later editions to see if anything had come of the memory and written letter she’d sent to Harry… By the tone of the article however there were still subvertants at the paper causing trouble.
“It is surprising to this establishment that Hermione Granger of the Golden Trio would take justice into her own hands in such a gruesome manner. Gregory Goyle was apparently killed instantly, Jasper Pike died in St. Mungoes of mortal injury. Delicate readers are cautioned against reading much further.”
Hermione shook her head violently in confusion. No, no that wasn’t right, she didn’t kill anyone!! They attacked her, what nonsense was this?!
“Mr. Cassius Warrington, son of Wizengamot member and wealthy importer, Alexander Warrington, is at the writing of this article, still in a coma. The other injured party, Millicent Bullstrode, was able and willing to give a statement…”
“I’ll bet she was.” Hermione hissed angrily.
“‘It was shocking.’” Ms. Bullstroed recalled, tears in her eyes. ‘She was so sure it was us… so sure we’d done something. She just attacked us, like a lunatic. The war must have… done things to her. You know, mentally.’
A 35,000 galleon reward is being offered by the Pike and Warrington families for information leading to the capture of Hermione Granger for questioning. Our newly installed minister has refused to commnet.”
Hermione threw down the paper, the images of the dead bodies she was being blamed for staring up at her as she knelt on the floor surrounded by the papers, her body shaking violently, stomach churning with nausea. She remembered the explosive feeling that had come over, being told later she’d suffered a magical outburst, the same one that had drained her magic and further traumatized her already battered body… Luke’s confession that the alley he had found her in was destroyed, that he had thought it from the battle but that it could have been her.
She’d killed them.
She’d killed them.
Hermione hardly knew what to think. What to feel. They had deserved it, hadn’t they? They had left a trail of violated witches and murdered people in their wake. They were going to gang rape Pansy for supposedly being a “traitor”. They brutalized Hermione. They deserved it.
But she had killed them. She’d never killed anyone before. She didn't count horcruxes. Never taken a life. Didn’t think she ever would… and the thought of it cut her deeply, and now she was a wanted witch.
Overwhelmed with conflicting thoughts and feelings she buried her face in her hands and wept…
So deep was she in her despair she didn’t hear the knocking at the door, or it opening when she didn’t respond after several moments. She looked up at the sound of footsteps and her wizard companion calling her name.
“Hermione?”
She choked and gasped, struggling to drag in shuddering breaths. She wasn’t wearing her blindfold but he risked it anyway, coming to kneel behind her and gathering her in his arms. She let herself be pulled in, feeling the brush of soft hair as she buried her face into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
When she could breathe again she reached for the newspaper, her head hung in despair. “I… I did this. I’m capable of this!”
“Do you truly have sympathy for people who brutalized you so horribly?” he asked, stroking her hair comfortingly as she cried.
“I… I don’t know!” she stammered, gasping. “I’ve never…” He drew her back into his arms and she collapsed against him willingly. “This is why I can’t go back.” she sobbed. “Why you want me to be sure I could duel first? I’m in danger because I killed those people and they want me arrested… or worse.”
“Not at first, this had been a… new development that I did not anticipate.”
“So you saw this?” she wept, screwing her eyes shut tightly, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “You knew about it…”
“I ask you to forgive me for my lie of omission…” he said regretfully. “I did not know how to tell you.”
She wanted to be angry that he kept it from her, but she couldn't muster any. What way was there to tell someone they were a murderer? She sobbed in his arms on the floor for the gods only knew how long, him holding her silently, her cheek pressed to his chest, his hand stroking her back and her hair…
Wrecked as she was, she didn’t trust herself to cast spells and she gestured to her face. “Can you… I want you to stay…”
He hesitated a moment and then she felt him move behind her, drawing his wand and then his fingertips brushing against her scalp as he tied the blindfold around her eyes. She straightened and she felt his hands smooth over her face, drying the tears from her cheeks. He pulled something out and she felt a soft handkerchief being pressed into her hands. She took it and continued drying her face and neck where tears had made streaks down her throat.
“Hermione, I want you to listen to me.” he said firmly. “You did not intend to do this. You could not help what happened. It was as involuntary a reaction as one can have. You were brutalized. Tormented, exhausted. If it had not happened… you may well have died. I would not have found you in time. They wouldn't have stopped.”
She nodded. Intellectually she knew this. But the reality of having lives ended by her hand was a difficult one to align with…
“The memory you gave to your friends… I am sure by now something has come of it. They will not want to publish it before speaking to you, and give away to your attackers that it is known. But it exists and they will have already followed through. Your friends will not let you go unavenged. And if needed, when you return it will be authenticated and you will be exonerated and the people who did this to you will pay for what they’ve done.”
She swallowed, trying hard not to burst into tears. “They’ve all but put a bounty on me.”
“Minister Shacklebolt will never allow you to see prison for this. He will have already surmised the truth of the matter, I’m sure of it. I would be very surprised if this has not already been dealt with and your attackers even now languish in a cell.”
A ray of hope beamed through the despair. “Kingsley is the minister?”
“Yes.” She felt his hands on her face again. “No one, will find you here. You are still safe. And when it is time, I will get you home, to the people who can fight for you.”
Hermione reached for his hands and clasped them in her lap. “I don’t know what I did to earn a Guardian Angel.”
“Oh Hermione.” he whispered sadly, ghosting his fingertips across her temple, brushing her hair from her eyes almost affectionately. “I am the furthest thing possible from an Angel. My gods, if you knew… if you knew the things I have done.”
He dropped his hand and she heard him sigh in frustration.
She bit her lip and gave a tearful smile. Raising her hand she touched his face, pressing her palm against his jaw. His head was bowed and she raised it. “I don’t care what you’ve done. I owe you more than I could ever repay.”
She felt him swallow and take a shuddering breath. “Come.” he said gruffly. “There is nothing you can do with this. You should be reading much more relaxing, diverting things.”
She let him help her stand, disappointment settling over her. “You’re very kind. But… reading… or… focusing on anything at all in detail, really… has still been difficult. Just skimming the newspapers was painful. Though I’m sure the stress of what I was reading didn’t help. I think a book will be out of the question.”
He did not immediately respond but tucked her hand on his arm firmly, guiding her across the room carefully at a slow pace. “Perhaps… Perhaps I could… read to you.”
She paused and looked towards him. “Read to me? Oh I… I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You are not asking, I am offering.” he countered. “I have nothing much to do at present. If I am to be idle, I’d much rather be here, offering you some diversion. You do enjoy reading and if… your eyes still fail you, then. Allow me.”
Hermione couldn’t lie. She liked the idea. Even quietly whispered as it was, or disguised as it seemed to be at other times, he had a pleasant voice. And she could use the distraction after the whirlwind of distressing thoughts tearing through her…
She accepted his offer and settled in bed, leaning against the headboard, a cup of tea Mitzy brought in as her companion set himself in a chair beside her. She had selected Bleak House, and he confessed himself unfamiliar with it.
“My father was partial to Charles Dickens.” she recalled fondly. “I always found old fiction sometimes dry, I preferred soaking up facts and information from textbooks but… he insisted I read the classics too. I promised him I’d read them… Bleak House was the only one I never did.”
His voice took a wistful tone as she heard him open the book. “Then let me help you keep your promise.”
She smiled as he began and Hermione was glad she’d asked him to stay. One of the last things she remembered thinking before drifting to sleep was that sitting with him this way was time well spent indeed...
Notes:
So… you guys are either going to love me or hate me but I’ve decided that….. Bad news… Hermione’s not going to figure it out in this fic. Lucius will remain a mystery. Good news (maybe) its because I’ve decided for sure I’m going to carry this into a full length fic. Not sure when, probably at some point after Life Debt (cause… I’m going to need something with lots of sweetness and romance to recover from that monstrously heart wrenching angst fest.) But, the more I wrote this the more possibilities for adventure started coming to me, and…. It needs to happen. Anonymous partners, a challenging relationship, an emotional reveal, a secret affair…. I want ALL of it. What say you? Just gotta develop enough of a plot. Wish me luck.
Chapter 8: Tonight to Remember
Summary:
Hermione and her wizard part ways.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
”There's a ship out, on the ocean, at the mercy of the sea.
It’s been tossed about, lost and broken. Wandering aimlessly.
And God somehow you know that ship is me…
‘Cause there's a lighthouse in a harbor. Shining faithfully.
Pouring its light out across the water.
For this sinking soul to see, that someone out there still believes in me…”
“When You Come Back to Me Again”, Garth Brooks
“I found every breath of air and every scent and every flower and leaf and blade of grass and every passing cloud and everything in nature more beautiful and wonderful to me than I had ever found it yet. This was my first gain from my illness. How little I had lost when the wide world was so full of delight for me.”
Hermione was relaxing in a reclined chair outside in the garden as Luke continued reading to her. She was resting, at his insistence, after a long and intense training session. Spells and curses she found easy to cast, but her stamina to maintain them was another matter. She was easily wearied, managing only a few spells or hexes at a time, and so she took his admonishment to stop for the time being and turned to less tiring things for the present moment.
“What is it?” he asked.
Hermione turned towards the sound of his voice. “What?”
“You have that look again. When you are thinking of something other than the book.”
Hermione smiled. “Oh, I suppose just thinking that it's quite true. How you appreciate the simple things when you think they are lost to you.”
“Feeling self reflective, I see.”
She laughed softly. “A bit, I suppose.” she set her water glass aside on the small table between them and stood. “Come on.”
She found his hands and closed the book, setting that aside and tugging him to his feet.
“I thought you were going to rest now…” he cautioned.
“I have been for a while. Besides I don't want to do anything crazy, I just want to walk. I’ve missed the fresh air and sun. And it helps clear my head when I’m feeling frustrated.”
She heard him laugh, low in his chest. She had really come to adore the sound of his quiet laugh, a gruff almost hesitant sound as if true laughter was rare and unused... “Very well.” he answered.
The pace of their days over the past week had been pleasant. He spent quite a bit of time with her, an act Hermione was more than pleased with. Sometimes they simply talked, other times he continued to read to her. Dickens mostly, sometimes historical magical texts, sometimes collections from Shakespeare. But most of all she simply enjoyed his company… Sometimes he read to her or talked with her in her room as she rested, other times down in the library or in the garden. Some days when she was tired from their dueling practice, they sat together at the piano, playing selections together. Or he would play for her pleasure when she was too tired even to participate in that, and she laid on the couch Mitzy had placed there, drifting into sleep at the lulling of the music.
More than once she fell asleep to the soft but rich tenor of his voice as he read to her. There was even one embarrassing evening, more tired from their training than she thought, sitting beside him in the library, enjoying the sound of the rain on the glass windows and door, she must have fallen asleep, leaning into him in her unconscious state. And there was a moment of deep humiliation when she awoke her arm around his middle, her head against his chest, but then she realized by the sound of the birds and the sight of more light through her blindfold that it was morning and the slow rhythmic rise and fall of his chest told her he was asleep. Mitzy told her he had stayed and slept there, rather than disturb her…
Some days they would simply walk together like this, her arm linked with his, his hand covering hers as he guided her around the grounds. She knew the layout, she had seen it enough as she had been accustomed to light, and was left to practice or simply walk by herself. The lush grass surrounded by tall stone walls in the small courtyard. A small fountain and pond in the corner and the space rimmed with all manner of foliage and flowers. Luke insisted she practice alone, with Mitzy close by for aid if needed. She was perfectly content to trade friendly blows with the wizard, he was an accomplished dueler, a patient instructor and helped her to hone her skills quickly and efficiently. She even found the presence of the blindfold enriching in that she had learned to anticipate him without seeing him. It gave her a thrill of conquest and he was impressed with her ability to adapt.
To be frank she was a bit impressed with herself as well.
But, she saw the wisdom of practicing as she would spend most of her time. He did not stay with her long, intending only to see for himself how her stamina and ability were improving, and then he left her, retreating back into the house. And so when he took his leave she would practice spells and curses on an improvised target that Mitzy had set up for her. But she was always aware of him watching her from somewhere in the house as she was down in the courtyard. And she felt far less dangerous casting with her sight. They avoided more troublesome spells in their sparring, but more than once she had missed Luke entirely and obliterated a rose bush, to his amusement and the elf’s hysteria. And another she thought she’d wounded him when he was a fraction of a second too late blocking her counter strike she’d cast just a bit too strong and she heard him blasted back, landing with a thud and a harsh groan on the stone terrace.
“Oh my god!” she had screamed, running forward, nearly tripping as her foot caught on the step and she landed next to him harshly and ran her hands over his torso, gripping his shoulders. “Luke, are you alright, did I-”
But he was laughing hysterically and she rocked back on her heels with a relieved breath.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” he insisted. “And you were excellent.”
She smiled and helped him up.
That was yesterday, and she was pleased today had gone less violently. She imagined Luke was as well, despite his assurances…
“Shall I join you this evening?” he asked her.
“I’d like that.” she said with a smile. “Perhaps we could go back to reading some of the sonnets.”
“Are you fond of them?” he asked.
No. Actually she just liked the way his voice sounded when he read Shakespeare…
“I didn’t think so.” she said aloud. “I never read much of the sonnets, I didn’t think of myself much into poetry. And I hate reading Shakespeare myself. I prefer to hear it read or performed.”
“If you had to choose one?”
She thought it over briefly. “There was actually a particular passage - it wasn’t a sonnet, but from Hamlet. A play. I didn’t enjoy the play but… it caught my attention and I always liked it. ‘Doubt thou the stars are fire.” she recited. “Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.” She could feel his eyes on her and she blushed. “I know, not my style but I found it intriguing and contradictory. The idea that there could be a love that could be so sure, so certain, that it made all the truths and simple facts of the universe seem like mere conspiratorial myths…”
“And… in your young years… have you found such sureties?”
She snorted. “No. Maybe someday. With time. But… it's nice to think it could be out there. What about you? You were married… did you know such certainty?”
There was a pause. “Much of what I was sure of… crumbled to dust long ago. Including love.” He took a deep breath and said encouragingly. “But… we were speaking of less depressing things.”
“Yes.” she took the cue to redirect the conversation. “Favorite sonnets. Do you have one?”
He seemed to be mulling it over for several minutes. Then he spoke. “When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, and look upon myself and curse my fate… Yet in these thoughts myself alone despairing, haply I think on thee... And then my state sings hymns at heaven’s gate for thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings that then I scorn to change my state with kings.”
The deep sadness and longing in his voice made her chest ache. “I’ve never heard that one.”
“I suppose I too appreciated the contradictory nature,” he confessed. “That one could be so deeply despised, outcast, counted as worthless to all… and there could still be something… someone… to make it so one could live with such pain and despair and count it all for nothing…”
She stopped and took his hands. There was something undercutting those words in him. Something deep and regretful. “If there is anything I’ve learned the last few years… its never too late for redemption.”
“There can be no redemption.” he breathed. “There is no way to undo it. It is done.”
“Sometimes you can’t.” she said sadly. “Sometimes you can just… go forward and do things differently.”
He fell silent and she squeezed his arm tightly and he escorted her inside. She took supper in the dining room with him on evenings where her energy levels allowed it. He had told her the other people here had moved on, and she was the last remaining guest save one who “preferred his solitude”. It was just as well in her estimation, she liked that he had more time to talk with her and he seemed to enjoy it as well…
But, with the increased time, came more time to train and practice, and with that came the inevitability she thought she had been prepared for…
She had been in the library the night previously, enjoying a book on magical art. Her eyesight was nearly restored, only temporary bouts of blurriness and darkness, but reading still gave her a headache after too long, so it was far easier for now to look at artwork. She must have fallen asleep on the chaise for she woke up with her feet tucked under her comfortably, feeling a man’s hand gently placing the blindfold over her eyes, as Luke often did if he came to her while she was sleeping.
Hermione felt his touch at her temple, brushing aside a few tendrils of her hair, fingertips lingering gently against her face in a tender gesture. But then suddenly he drew away as if he remembered himself.
“I didn’t mind.” she declared sleepily.
He hesitated to speak but then, he told her his news. “The memory and letter you sent your friends were entered into evidence and Kingsley Shacklebolt has declared you will not under any circumstances be put on trial. I doubt that was ever even a consideration. Your attackers however… were arrested.”
Hermione sat up quickly. “Really?”
“Yes. And… seeing as you are well within your wits and ability… I… I should now deliver you home.”
She heard disappointment in his tone of voice. A disappointment she felt herself belying the happiness she felt at the prospect of seeing her friends again.
“Yes.” she said aloud. “It’s probably long past time.” She felt for his hand and impulsively raised it to her lips. “Thank you.” she said as she pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. “Thank you for everything.”
His hand turned palm resting against her cheek. His thumb traced her lips which parted in a silent gasp at the feeling. He leaned forward. She felt the brush of fabric, she slid her hand up his arm, invitingly. She felt the barest brush of his jaw against her cheek, his breath tickling her flesh, she felt faint at his nearness. But then his lips only pressed against her forehead in a lingering but chaste kiss.
“You are welcome.”
He was not willing to apparate her without a proper examination from a healer, and pleaded with her to let him arrange travel. And so after some discussion it was decided she would send word with Hulda to her friends, and arrange to meet in a neutral place with guaranteed safety and from there, take the floo to her friends, under cover of darkness preferably.
He left her to her preparations, and she took off the blindfold and went up to her room, deep in thought. Mitzy was waiting with breakfast but her appetite was nonexistent, so sipping some tea she got to her letter and sent it off. It took no time at all to receive a reply and it was decided she would go to Aberforth in Hogsmeade as it had been fairly well secured in the time since the war’s end.
Hermione felt both excitement and sadness… “Mitzy…” she called, folding the letter up slowly. “Would you please tell your master… that we will be traveling to Hogsmead.”
The elf’s ears drooped sadly. “Yes miss. Of course.”
There was not much to do in the meantime except fret and become more anxious… She tried to read but failed to concentrate on a thing and gave up. She stood and stretched and that's when she heard it. Music drifted across the house and head tilted curiously she went to the door and opened it. If she were the only one here save one, then it must be Luke. She recognized the piece as she came down the stairs. It was the one she had played, Nocturna. The door to the library was open and she could hear every note clearly.
She leaned against the wall, her cheek rested against the wooden door frame, her palm against the open door. She felt positively melancholy. The door was open. He didn’t know she was there. She could simply step around the corner and finally see him for who he was…
It's the only thing he has asked of you.
She sighed and took the blindfold from the pocket of her dress and tied it around her eyes.
“Luke?”
The playing stopped. “Hermione.”
His voice was gruff and heavy, mirroring her own feeling of weariness.
“I heard you playing. Is it alright that I’ve disrupted your solitude?”
“Of course.” he said as she came closer. “I will soon have… more solitude than I desire or know what to do with.”
She touched his hand and began playing again, joining him once more. “I wish you were not going to be alone. I think I'm going to miss you. Is that mad?” she laughed
“No. I will… also miss the time we have shared.” Then he laughed shortly. “Well. Perhaps not the time you spent hovering near death.”
Hermione laughed. “No. No I could have done without all that as well.”
Tears she didn’t really understand filled her eyes and she swallowed them down. She ceased playing the notes and reached beside her and took his hand. She didn’t know what to say. But then again it seemed neither did he, only sitting beside her in silence.
The back of his hand grazed across her cheek where a stray tear had gathered. He cupped her face gently and then she thought he might kiss her again. But he didn’t…
“We should prepare ourselves for the journey,” he said simply. “It is… a long way from here to Scotland.”
She nodded and stood and was prepared to walk out of the room in silence. But as she neared the door she stopped and turned. “If anyone but my friends was going to find me… I’m glad it was you.”
And with that she went above stairs and left him to his thoughts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mitzy, the poor creature, was quite despondent as Hermione bathed and prepared to leave. She blubbered and wept as she cleaned the room.
“And its a long way miss, so Mitzy has packed Miss some food.” the kind little elf snapped her fingers and set a small basket on the writing desk. “There’s is all sorts of things for miss to eat, and all her favorites.”
Hermione smiled sadly at her as she dried and tamed her hair. “Thank you Mitzy.” she knelt down and took the elf’s hands. “I truly am so very grateful, Mitzy. You have been so kind to me. An excellent friend and nursemaid.”
The elf’s ears twitched and her eyes glistened. “Mitzy was happy to do it, Miss.”
Hermione smiled tearfully and stood up. It was time to dress and the elf had laid out a simple calf length lace up dress in a dark shade of burgundy. She slipped it on and the flats she’d been wearing.
“Master said you are to have anything you wish to take with you.” the elf said sadly.
“Oh.” Hermione breathed. “No. Thank you. I don’t need anything. Just my wand and some clothes to wear.” she gestured down at the dress she now wore. “Can’t walk into Hogsmeade naked.” she laughed anxiously.
But then she turned towards the vanity, her smile fading as she remembered the short note and rose that still sat there from when he’d left it for her a morning that now seemed like an eternity ago. “On second thought…” she said, crossing the room slowly and taking the note in hand. She touched the now dried out bloom and let her fingertip trace the edge of the parchment. Thinking no more of it, she slipped it along with the handkerchief he’d left with her when she was in despair over the daily prophet articles into the basket Mitzy had left for her.
As the hour of their departure drew closer, Mitzy brought her a simple black traveling cloak and draped it over her shoulders, fastening it at the neck and shortening the hem to fit her properly. “Miss should pull the hood up in Hogsmeade to keep from being seen by undesirables, miss. And will keeps miss cool in the heat.”
“Thank you, Mitzy.” she sighed but gathered some of the fabric and lifted it briefly to her nose. It smelled like him. That same earthy resin and leather scent she had become so familiar with…
The elf stood by the door of her room holding the satin blindfold and Hermione took it regretfully and tied it around her eyes. She let herself be led by the hand down the hallway and stairs to the front door.
“She is ready, master.”
“Very well, Mitzy.” came the man’s voice in response.
The elf pressed the small basket’s handle into her hand. “Goodbye miss. Miss is being safe.”
“I will Mitzy.” she answered tearfully. “Goodbye. And thank you again. So much.”
She heard the elf take a large gulp of air before placing Hermione's hand into Luke’s… There was a creak of a large door and the warm night air skimmed across her face as he led her outside down a short gravel drive. She could hear a few horses snorting and stomping their feet, and she was handed upwards into a carriage. She found the seat easily and sat down… The carriage shifted slightly as her companion entered and then the door closed and with a sharp tap on the roof, and a sudden jerk, the carriage started off.
Even with a swifter, magical carriage, the drive would be a long one, and they passed most of it in a heavy silence, offering each other small bits of conversation here and there to pass the time.
But eventually they arrived at their destination and the carriage rolled to a stop.
Luke cleared his throat. “We’re here.”
Hermione took a deep breath, her thoughts, her emotions, still a whirlwind. The wizard alighted first and after a moment when he helped her down, she could feel the tension in him as he braced, looking for a fight. She laid a hand on his shoulder encouragingly. Harry had assured her it was perfectly safe here.
She felt him move in front of her as a door opened, and then she heard Aberforth’s deep gruff voice. “Why is she blindfolded? Who are you? Show yourself!”
Hermione touched her companions’ back and stepped forward. “It's alright, Aberforth. I’m here and I’m alright.”
“You’re certain it's him?” Luke asked,
Hermione faced the figure of Aberforth. “How did we first meet?”
“You were running from the snatchers and came into my pub. I smuggled you into Hogwarts through a portrait.” he answered.
“Its him.” Hermione assured him, setting Mitzy’s basket on the ground at her feet. “I’ll be… I’ll be just a minute, Aberforth.”
“Hmm.” she heard the older wizard snort in disapproval but then the door shut firmly.
“Here.” she heard Luke say as he seemed to draw something from his robes. He pressed a thick folded stack of parchment into her palm. “Names and information of the sympathizers, saboteurs and informants still in the ministry and hospital that I could discover. It should help you. And… keep you safe.”
Hermione nodded. “Thank you. I know this will save us so much time, pain and risk. But how did you--”
“Remember what I said about knowing things you shouldn’t know.” he reminded her.
Hermione smiled tightly. “Ok. But I want you to know the acute and particular hell it is for me to be told I’m not allowed to know something and it is only in my deep indebtedness and affection for you that I surrender…”
He laughed softly as she slipped the parchment into the pocket of her cloak. “I’m sure your boggart is a do not enter notice.”
She scoffed in amusement. “Failing grade actually.”
Or at least it was. She dreaded the thought of what it might be now.
“Then.” she took a breath, chest aching. “I suppose this is it. I… I don't know what to say to you.”
“Nothing.” he assured her. “Nothing except -” he took her hand gently. “Goodbye.”
She stood stock still, indecisive, hesitating, her hand in his. She should simply bid him farewell and go inside, go back to her life, her friends, to her destiny, if she even believed in such things for herself… but something pulled her back, kept her rooted to her place.
“Will I ever see you again?” she asked simply.
There was a long pause where all she could hear was the horses and a distant owl.
“No.” he said at long last with a pained breath.
Regret knifed through her breast and she bit her lip hard. “So, I really must leave here never knowing the name or face of the man who saved my life. And never…. Never to speak to you again… Never to know you at all.”
“If you did… you would not think so well of me.” he countered heavily. “I… I am not a hero Hermione. Far from it.”
“Maybe not.” she allowed. She touched his face and as she raised up on her toes, kissed his cheek, the hood of his cloak brushing her forehead as she did. “But for a moment… you were mine.”
She felt him tremble briefly… from what she could not be sure. But then his hand came to rest against her hip, the other coming under her chin, “The astonishing truth, Hermione… is that you do know me… You may not know my name. Or my face… but you… have seen me. The man I buried so deeply that even I did not know him. The man I desperately wish I had been all along.”
Her lips parted in surprise at such a statement, and he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers… It wasn’t the heated all consuming passionate, lustful gesture they’d fallen into during the intensity of the magic sharing spell… It was simply a simple kiss of parting ways. But it warmed her flesh and stirred her soul just the same and she leaned into him, her hands coming against his chest and twisting the fabric of his robes in her fingertips.
He broke the kiss, and she fought hard to keep a protest of sadness from breaking free. His forehead touched hers and she embraced him. Thank you seemed so wholly inadequate.
She felt slackness and weariness in his posture. “I have a request,” he said.
“Anything.” she vowed.
“Remember me this way,” he said. “And that thought will sustain me. That you are out in the world… and knew me.”
He sounded like a man about to walk to the gallows and the thought filled her with apprehensiveness. “Are you in need of sustaining?” she asked gently.
“In need of courage. To do what I know now I must.”
“Then you can be sure.” She frowned, and laid her palm against his heart. “I will never forget you.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it, squeezing it tightly. “Goodbye, Hermione.”
“Goodbye… Luke.”
His hold on her hand lingered as he stepped away and then he released her and her hand hovered, cold and bare in the air as she heard him move back into the carriage. She bit down on her lip painfully to keep from calling out, asking him to stay a moment longer, begging him to reconsider whatever it was he was planning to do that put such despair in his voice… But the door closed and she heard the horses start off and she raised her hands and removed the blindfold.
The large, but nondescript black carriage moved further and further away as she watched, and stood there until it faded into the distance… not knowing the man inside watched her just as intently...
The wizard that had been her constant companion now gone, permanently it seemed, from her life, Hermione sighed regretfully and stooped to pick up the basket and slowly walked towards the pub… It was dark when she opened the door and stepped inside but her eyes adjusted and she was surprised and elated to see Ginny standing beside the floo.
Ginny covered her mouth with her hands briefly before the two witches ran to each other, throwing their arms around each other in a tight hug.
“Oh Ginny thank the gods!” Hermione cried. “The last thing I saw was you getting hit and I had no idea if you were even alive until the letter…”
“What, forget about me, it was nearly nothing, what about you?” Ginny placed her hands on Hermione’s face shaking her head in tearful disbelief. “My god, that memory you sent us… how are you even alive?”
Hermione swallowed. “I had help.”
Ginny nodded. “Well, thank Merlin. Come on… let's get you back where you can rest…”
Hermione and Ginny thanked Aberforth for his assistance and went through the floo. When they got to the foyer in Grimmauld, Harry and Ron were there, pacing aggressively and when they saw her, rushed to her, pulling her into a tight hug and then released her, shouting questions at her in a hurry.
“Hermione, what the bloody hell--”
“Where have you been--”
“Who had you--”
“There was only a few letters--”
“What happened--”
“How did you--”
Head spinning, Hermione waved her hand through the air. “I’m so happy to see you all. But… I’m really tired. I promise, I’ll tell you everything alright? But I need to rest. So, can it just not be tonight?” she pressed a hand to her temple. “Not tonight.”
Ron and Harry looked at each other and Ginny gave them a pointed look.
“Yeah. Yeah ok, Mione.” Ron said.
“We’ll see you in the morning…” Harry finished.
Hermione nodded and muttered a quiet thank you and began slowly up the stairs. Ginny called out, “Are you sure you don’t want some tea or supper first?”
Hermione paused and turned back. “No. No I- I’m good. Oh.” she reached into the pocket of her cloak and held out the folded parchment. “You’ll need this.”
Harry stepped forward to take it curiously and she went on her way...
When she finally reached the safety and privacy of the room that had been hers while they stayed here, Hermione slumped tiredly against the now closed door. There were no windows in this room and the silence rang heavily. She moved rather woodenly to the bed and laid the traveling cloak across the trunk at the foot of the bed, took off the dress and found one of the old nightgowns and robes she’d been using. Relief of the familiar and the certain swept over her, but also an undercurrent of sadness.
Already she missed his conversation, his company, the shared interests she had discovered with him. She loved her friends dearly but she had so seldom found a kindred spirit in music, in literature, someone with a sharp mind and quick wit who could discuss all her deepest passions with her so easily. How odd and tragic that when she found such a friend it was in a stranger she would never know and that she would be fated to never see him again…
She missed the pleasant afternoons at the piano with him. Sharing tea and walking together about the garden. She missed Mitzy and her persistent care and companionship.
Mitzy. She smiled sadly at the little basket from the elf and half heartedly set aside the note and the rose she had kept and then lifted the enchanted lace linen. And the delicious aromas of warm bread and cheese, roast beef, vegetables and her heavenly toffee cake spiraled out. Further down she saw biscuits and shortbreads, jars of curd and jam, and a gorgeous array of sandwiches with tea bags that Hermione would bet anything were her favorite brew the elf had made her every afternoon.
But then she noticed something else. Books tucked on the inside of the elf’s basket and curiously she lifted them out, and smiled instantly to see the worn copy of Bleak House. She set it aside and looked at the next one. Shakespeare’s Sonnets. The book felt oddly bulky and upon inspection she discovered a page was marked with something. She opened the book to find a thornless rose pressed between the pages. She might have convinced herself it was a coincidence, an oversight or accident, but then she read it.
“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”
She laid her palm against the page, letting that sentiment settle over her. Telling her in some small way that he was glad of their acquaintance. That whatever he faced now, he wouldn’t change it for the knowing of her…
She lifted the rose and touched it affectionately. I wish…
no. She thought firmly. There was no point in dwelling on it. It was over. She didn't even know his real name. She would never see him. Never encounter or speak to him again. She could accept it. She had to. Think of it fondly and put it away with all the other faded memories of her life. She touched the drying still fragrant rose as she laid down wearily on her bed and held the book to her nose, breathing in the scent of old bindings. Well… perhaps she’d put it away tomorrow.... Surely one more night in fond reflection of an unexpected friendship couldn't hurt… and with that self assurance she opened the book once more and began reading again, the sound of crackling fire and the smell of firewhiskey and books and leather fresh in her mind.
~~~~~~~
Morning had found Hermione faced with an anxious Ron and Ginny. Harry had left early to take action on the long list of names Hermione had given them while Ron and Hermione were to take her to act as a guard while she was seen by a healer.
“I feel fine honestly, I really don’t think I need a--”
“No.” Ron said simply. “We don’t even know who was taking care of you this whole time, what if they did something to you or drugged you, you need to be seen!”
She supposed it was no use arguing and would cease some of the stares and worry, so she acquiesced and went with them to St. Mungo’s. So while Ginny sat with her anxiously and Ron stood guard outside, Hermione submitted to the exam.
The matronly witch finished her spells, charms and examinations and began jotting things down on a parchment. “You’re clear of any curses, no oddities we can detect. I can see traces of the injuries you described, but they’ve healed nicely…with a little additional treatment we’ll finish it off and have you perfectly as you were. You were very well tended, Ms. Granger.”
“Yes... I was.” she acknowledged.
Everyone was simply concerned over her, she knew that. But she couldn’t wait to get out of the hospital. The cold clinical room, the detached staff, harsh and thoughtless touch and exams… it was nothing like what she’d known over the last 2 months and she longed for quiet solitude.
But, she had a promise to keep and so on return from the hospital, when Harry and the remnant of the Order could be gathered and feeling like she were on trial, she sat at the table answering their questions as best she could. She told them all she could remember - again - from the attack beyond the simple visual memory and letter she’d given… what they had done, how she was cared for, how she was treated, whether she thought she was in enemy hands… Yes, she answered their questions…
But she held back some things for herself.
“Is there anything you noticed that could tell us who took you?” Arthur asked.
Hermione hesitated, her lips parted to speak. She could tell them he was divorced. That there was a child, or several. That the place she had been in the country was in Wales. That he wasn’t alone and they had been looking for someone when he found her. She could tell them of the french healer, that she thought he was a pureblood, or at the very least a halfblood unfamiliar with muggles. She could describe the structure. The landscape. The amount of time it took to get from there. But… she did not.
“No.” she said finally. “Not a thing. I was pretty out of it.”
Was it wrong? Was it wrong to leave out some of the details of her caretaker she’d noticed? After all, it wasn't important to the Cause to find him… she hoped. They didn’t need to know about the days at the piano. The evenings he had spent reading to her. Their walks together in the afternoon after tea. The spell he had cast to heal her magic and the intimate passionate kiss that they had been stirred to. Surely that could be kept secret...
For if the memory of it was all she was ever to have again… she wanted to keep it for herself…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lucius Malfoy stood in the middle of the entry hall upon his return from Hogsmead feeling surprisingly shell shocked. He could try and chalk it up to the whirlwind of the last few months. But he knew it was more than that...
Finding her had been a soul destroying indictment on his entire life… Every choice, every path chosen, every road followed, every blasted mistake and sin that had led him here was illustrated graphically in the bloody, trembling form of Hermione Granger.
True, he had not known it was her. It had been a last minute decision to take her as he, Draco and Cillian Parkinson searched for Pansy and Daphne Greengrass in the decimated remains of Knockturn Alley. So thick was the filth blood and bruises on her body that it wasn't until he'd begun to clean her and heal her that he realized who it was he held in his arms, who it was he was carrying through the safe house foyer…
“You’re looking particularly empty and broody.” a deep familiar voice broke the silence from the hallway, coming out of the room that for several months had been a defacto potions lab. “Even for you.”
Lucius looked up in surprise, startled. “What?”
Severus snorted, limping into the room, leaning heavily on the cane that had been his companion far too long. “Salazar’s sake, you are a wreck.”
Lucius marshaled his face into a neutral expression. “I don't know what you mean. What are you doing up and about? You've had a trying time of it so soon after your recovery.”
“Yes, well, perhaps I'm just grateful for the walkabout after being hunched over a cauldron for two months.”
“Thank you for doing it.” Lucius replied.
Severus scoffed. “We’ve never needed thank yous between us. But I am curious. What now?”
Lucius raised an eyebrow. “What now, what?”
Severus fixed him with an impatient look. “Did you really just send her off into the night? With her still not knowing who you are?”
“Oh gods above even I don't know who I am anymore.” Lucius scowled, turning and learning in the doorway staring angrily at the piano she had sat beside him at on so many occasions. “How the bloody hell could I tell her.”
Severus looked at him for a long time. “Mitzy.”
The Elf appeared.
“Scotch. Two glasses. Leave the bottle.” Severus said.
Mitzy did so, serving it on a table in the library and Lucius followed Severus in, accepting he had little choice in this stern talking to he had a feeling he was in for.
“Why?” Lucius asked as Severus handed him a glass.
“You’re more turned around than I thought… it's painful. Realizing every choice you ever made in your life was the wrong one.”
Lucius scowled and drank the scotch in a single swallow.
“I realized it long, long ago.” He admitted quietly.
He doubted he was ever going to get those thoughts, images and the whirlwind mess of conflict out of his mind. Her blood leaving a trail across the wood floors, staining his clothes, his skin, the blood he had once thought so tainted, so far beneath anything, that he now tried so desperately to staunch and keep inside of her pale, slight body. He remembered thinking not far beyond the thought that he had not done her this evil… but he may as well have...
As if he could sense his thoughts, Severus poured another glass. “You take too much of the blame sometimes, Lucius. You did not single handedly bring this war. It stirred and raged long before either of us were born.”
Lucius stared at the floor, deep in thought as the same reflections that had raised their head for the past year surfaced again. “I know. But I should have done something… I should have…”
“You’ve spent the better part of a decade in mortal fear for your child.” Severus argued. “Nearly tortured to death. Imprisoned. Assailed by death eaters or in a pain and alcohol induced haze. You had only just begun to heal, and think clearly… when Ms. Granger is dropped in your lap…”
This was all rehashed conversation. “What’s your point?” he asked tiredly, dropping into an armchair.
“That you’re not ready for this.” Severus said pointedly.
There was no this. She was here. Now she was gone. That was the end of it. Lucius dragged a hand across his face in weary frustration. “You know… you haven’t talked this much in a gods damned year.”
Severus ignored him, studying him aggressively. “I saw the way you looked at her.”
“So what?” Lucius challenged.
“So what.” Severus snorted, as if it should be obvious. “You haven’t played the piano in half a decade. You haven't smiled in years. You haven't given a damn about that rose garden of your mother’s---”
“She needed diversion.” Lucius dismissed. “To keep that mind of hers occupied and off of who I might be.”
Severus raised an eyebrow. “And the kiss?”
Lucius sighed. He tried very hard not to think of that particular mistake. He closed his eyes and breathed out, but his body stirred, his blood heated. Gods she had been perfect. Willing, responsive, lustful. He remembered the way her hands had gripped his shoulders, the desperate hungry way she’d clutched at his shirt, her heated fingertips brushing his chest. The moan that had broken from her lips against his. She’d lit him aflame and he’d wanted nothing more than to eschew every shred of basic human decency that he had managed to retain, and lay her down and claim her then and there.
“An outcropping of the magic sharing spell.” he said, knowing it was only partially true but hoping that would put an end to that particular strain of questioning.
But he had no such fortune for Severus snorted, fixing him with a look of incredulous impatience. “You forget I performed that spell for you. It most certainly did not result in an intense make out session.”
Lucius leaned forward, hands braced on his aching forehead. “I suppose it has different effects between different participants.”
“Alright, granted.” Severus allowed. “Which is another thing entirely. You shared your magic... Cut out a piece of yourself and placed it in her to heal her… Hermione Granger. A mudblood.”
“I…” he swallowed. “I did not like the sight of her suffering again. She would have eventually healed on her own but... I thought it might hasten it.”
“Again.” Severus repeated as if he’d landed upon a realization. “So… your guilt over what happened with Bellatrix has opened this door…” He sighed. “Go after her.”
Lucius scoffed. “Are you absolutely mad?”
But his friend insisted. “Tell her the truth.”
“Oh, I can see that reunion now.” Lucius laughed, leaning back in the chair. “Lucius Malfoy showing up on the doorstep of the Order to call upon Ms. Hermione Granger…”
“Yes, well. Maybe not now.” Severus allowed. “For her safety and yours, perhaps wait for things to… calm down…”
Lucius skewered Severus with an impatient look. “When things ‘calm down’ I will be spending the rest of my life in Azkaban. If I don’t outright get The Kiss…”
Severus frowned regretfully. “I’ll speak for you.”
“You’re supposed to be dead.” Lucius reminded him.
“A closed interview.” Severus compromised. “With the minister alone. Regardless, isn’t the possible prison sentence all the more reason to tell her the truth now while you can?”
“Oh, to what end?!” He asked impatiently.
Severus fell silent, tapping his index finger against the glass of scotch thoughtfully. “I know Hermione Granger. I can't stand her but I know her. And you helped her. You got her to trust, to heal, to center herself. Above all, to stop asking so many bloody questions, do you know what a feat that alone is? And you… you've never looked more like a living human man.”
Lucius leaned back in the chair. Yes, she had trusted him. It was unexpected but she’d trusted him. How would her feelings and recollections change if he made himself known? Doubt everything, regret it all… assume he had done it for clemency or worse...
Aloud he challenged, “So what, I go to her and tell her ‘hello, the man you've likely hated for 7 years, the man you blame for a despotic tyrant’s rise to power, the man who let you be tortured on the floor by a mad woman, he’s actually the same man you've been reading with and taking tea with’.” He buried his head in his hands at the absurdity of it.
“All I know,” Severus countered, “Is that something happened. You can part ways and never meet again but she needs to know. And you need her to know. If you don’t, it will be a constant source of distraction and distraction is death.”
Lucius shook his head slowly. “No. It is over. She is home, back with those she calls friends. She is healed. She will have a life. Let it be a nightmare that ended in a pleasant moment for her. Let her… let her think well of me... for a moment, even if she doesn't know my name.”
Severus fell silent for several moments. “And that’s enough for you?”
Two months. Two months of being something outside of himself. Speaking to someone with casual honesty, not suspicion. Of healing instead of harming. Bringing someone hope instead of fear. Someone he'd wronged terribly. Making it right in some small, infinitesimal measure. Remembering that for one moment, someone drew close to him for no reason than his company. Recalling that for once in his life… someone spoke to him with a soft, genuine smile and a trusting touch…
“Yes.” He said, his chest aching. “It’s enough.” To Severus he said. “It's late. You should rest. I'm going to… I don’t know.”
He bid Severus a distracted goodnight and walked away not immediately sure where he was heading. He detoured to her room as he had so many evenings when she was here. The owl that had been her messenger sat in the window and he crossed to it, scratching it on the head as it preened proudly, looking around somewhat indignantly at the empty room.
“Yes, I’m sorry.” he muttered to the bird, “She’s gone home now.”
The bird flew off in a snit and Lucius was left to look at the empty room. Mitzy had cleaned it, and there was no sign of her. Except one. He picked up one of the books that she had had on her nightstand and sat down in the chair that he’d occupied with her so often. It was easy to remember her touch, her laugh, the pleasant feel of her body pressed innocently against his those times she had drifted off to sleep next to him. He opened the book and began reading one her favorite passages, she had become fond of so many. Yes, tomorrow was a new day, a day without her. He would go on with his life, whatever was left of it, and he’d have to learn to forget. But he still had tonight to remember...
~~~~~~~
8:00 am the next morning.
Severus Snape had almost refused breakfast entirely the next morning but upon leaving the first floor room that had been his chambers since he was dragged from the shrieking shack barely clinging to life, and stowed here, he realized it was a stroke of providence that he had. The accursed venom had done a job on him and his recovery was slow, and he even now felt the ache and sting through his still stiff and uncooperative muscles.
He did not often analyze the place, preferring to simply muddle through one moment to the next after such a long life of hyper vigilance, but this morning he paused. It was usually quiet, but this morning it was like a tomb. Curious and with a rising sense of dread, Snape went to the breakfast room to find it empty, one single place set by the elf and beside his seat, a folded piece of parchment with the morning edition of the Daily Prophet.
He crossed the room as quickly as his cane allowed, and seized the letter. There was one beneath it addressed to Draco, and inside a short note to himself. And Lucius’ family crest…
“Give this to Draco. Your friendship has been an honor. Lucius.”
Snape clutched the cool metal ring in his hand, rereading the short note that somehow said nothing and everything at the same time. He had never been accused of being a man of feeling but after so much… he felt far more than he ever showed outwardly, and an unpleasant coiling of anger, frustration, disbelief… and grief… burned through him at the farewell.
“Mitzy!” he roared through the house. “My wand and cloak!”
The elf popped into the room with both items, her ears drooping sadly, her slight frame shaking with uncertainty. “May - may Mitzy ask where the Master Severus is going in his condition?”
Snape jerked on his cloak, and grasped his wand tightly in the hand not gripping the cane and limped towards the floo. “The ministry!” he snarled. “To hopefully save your damn fool of a master from his. Very. Worst. Enemy!”
The elf looked up in terribly confused concern. “Who?”
Severus seized a handful of powder. Himself!”
~~~~~~~~~
Three days later.
He saw her. Through a crowd, walking with her Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, two Aurors flanking them like bodyguards. As he waited in chains outside the courtroom, she was leaving. Lucius didn’t know what she had been doing there. But he felt her before he saw her, that flare of foreign magic that tasted of her, an echo still heard from the brief moment his soul was entwined with hers…
She didn’t recognize him. Why would she? She thought she knew him. The dark wizard who helped bring hell down on her world and all she loved. She would not for one moment even dream that the man who had hidden her, healed her, with a nonthreatening touch and a far gentler demeanor… was him.
Who would have thought sincerity and mercy could be a mask used to conceal?
No, she would not recognize him, and so he watched her without concern. Even when she turned, looking through the crowd of prisoners, onlookers, guards and ministry officials, and her eyes met his briefly, he knew she would not think twice. And if ever there was a time where something made her wonder, a sound, a scent, a word, that pricked her memory she would explain it away quite rationally. So sure would she be of his nature…
But even after meeting his haunted gaze, she continued scanning the crowd. Her brow furrowed, her eyes darting, and if he wasn’t mad, a small bit of elation. Did she sense him, as he had sensed her? Had the touch of his magic reached out for her, bidding her to pause, to come back? But he watched her face fall slowly as she looked, surely realizing she’d never know, that he would never come forward. The Weasley whelp leaned towards her and spoke to her. She shook her head in response and with a resigned breath she continued on her way and shrank from his view for what would likely be the last time… and he felt the loss more harshly than before.
So deep in his regret had he fallen that he didn't even register his name being called at the door. But the guards escorting him wasted no time and he grit his teeth in pain as they grasped him and shoved his battered body forward into the large courtroom, where the tribunal being used to facilitate a swifter resolution to matters such as his, sat stony and silent before him. The heavy doors slammed shut with a finality he felt in his blood.
Three days ago he had turned himself in to the Auror office. He had been tortured. Dragged. Left in a cold cell with no water. Beaten, until the man thrown to the floor in chains at the ministry wasn't much different in appearance than the one that had left Azkaban a bare year ago…
“Lucius Malfoy. Formerly prisoner 537.” an older wizard in the center of the raised podium, called out woodenly, glancing down at the stack of parchment before him. “You are hereby charged with a litany of crimes. Among which are: Exploitation. Espionage. Attempted Murder. Assault. Conspiracy to commit murder. Breaking and entering. Escape from Azkaban Prison after lawful capture. Association with Criminal Elements. Association with the Dark Wizard Voldemort. Criminally negligent homicide. Utilization of curses deemed Unforgivable. Endangering the welfare of a child. Acts of sedition. Acts of terrorism and war crimes.” he looked up from the list he was reading and leaned forward, with a glare. “It is the understanding of this criminal tribunal that you have surrendered and are here of your own will and your confession is not coerced.”
“Yes.” he choked, throat dry.
The wizard gestured to someone down the way from him and a witch spoke gravely. “You understand that your appearance here is an admission of guilt. You will receive no trial. And you will stand for sentencing of these, and more, crimes before the full Wizengamot at a time of their choosing. The penalty for the crimes you are accused of, carry a minimum sentence of 25 years to life in Azkaban. And a maximum sentence of execution...”
He had to do it. For many reasons. Though Narcissa had ultimately abandoned him and any claim to affection he may have had for her withering, she deserved peace for the years they had suffered through. And Draco deserved to move forward, justice done, the chance to start anew. Fresh. Unhindered. Free.
Free of him
“I understand,” he answered.
That at least surprised them, and the officials seated before him looked briefly at one another before the wizard at the head nodded to her.
The witch turned back to Lucius. “Very well. Please allocute for the record.”
Lucius paused. Prison. It was the best he could hope for and the worst he could imagine. At least if he were given the Kiss after a brief moment of horror, he’d know nothing. No… true hell was being trapped, and aware, and helpless…
I will never forget you.
She would remember the better part of him. Untainted.
Every bone and muscle in his body protested but he would not do this on his knees. Shaking from pain and exhaustion, he stumbled to his feet, the chains biting into his wrists as he straightened, “I am Lucius Malfoy.” he said to the court. “I am guilty of all charges which I stand accused…” He took a last free but regretful breath.
“And I surrender.”
THE END
Notes:
EDIT TO ADD: As it's now been a year and a sequel is currently being written and posted, you may not want to read the epilogue provided and instead proceed directly to the new fic. If you want the tease anyway, read on but the events continued in this epilogue happen over the course of the first 5 chapters and may throw some readers off... happy reading either way you go!
~~~~~~~~
I had so much fun writing this everybody and I’m sad to see it go. If you enjoyed this short fic and are excited for the prospect of a novel length sequel, drop a review and let me know. What do you hope to see in the sequel? Thank you for all the subs and kudos and comments! An epilogue is going to drop in a few days.
Chapter 9: Epilogue: 4 years later
Summary:
4 years later
Notes:
As a gift, I offer this epilogue to give you a sort of “preview” of the next installment. It is technically a spoiler, but all this will be evident within the first chapter, so no deep mysteries are being revealed. :) I didn't want anyone dying during the cliffhanger thinking I killed him in prison or had her get married or something lol
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“The first time I loved forever, was when you whispered my name.
And I knew at once you loved me, for the me of who I am.
The first time I loved forever, I cast all else aside.
And I bid my heart to follow, be there no more need to hide.
For all my life and forever, there's a truth I will always know…
When my world divides and shatters, your love is where I’ll go.”
“The first time I loved forever.” Lisa Angelle
4 years later
Hermione Granger was exhausted by the time she reached Number 12 Grimmauld Place and she took a moment on the step to simply lean against the door and breathe.
Oh, what a day.
Lifting her head from the tired slump she stood in, she opened the door and walked in, hearing Harry and Ron already here, chatting with Ginny in the kitchen.
“Is that you Hermione?” Ginny called, “It's not too late to run, it was Ron’s turn to cook.”
“Oh, shut it.” Ron mumbled.
Hermione laughed, already feeling leaps and bounds more relaxed. It was just her, Ron, Harry and Ginny here now. The Order long since vacated, having no need of a headquarters after the fall of Voldemort. The large house had seemed empty for a while… but living here together and rebuilding their lives had given it a new life of its own.
Putting her briefcase down on the stairs she walked into the kitchen, seeing Ginny and Harry sitting together affectionately, Ron standing at the end of the table spooning servings of what looked like an attempt at shepherds pie onto plates. When Hermione approached Ginny smiled and slid a butterbeer across the table towards her. “Happy Friday!”
Ron scoffed. “Look at the state of her, she doesn't want that shite.” Ron accioed the butterbeer back and instead took out a wine glass and filled it with chardonnay, and handed that to her instead. She met his eyes and smiled tightly, an expression which he returned. Even though they’d parted ways romantically over a year ago, he was still an excellent friend and still seemed to know just what she needed.
That's not to say the first few weeks of the four of them living together post breakup weren’t hellishly awkward.
Hermione sat down across from the newlywed and freshly honeymooned couple and took the glass gratefully. She looked at them and shook her head, an amused smile on her face as Harry kissed a blushing Ginny on the cheek. “You two are disgusting, you know that.”
Ginny stuck her tongue out and Ron finished passing out the plates. “It's no use, they’re insufferable. Four years you’d think they’d get all that out of their systems. Thank the gods we’re moving soon…”
It was meant to be a joke but at Ron’s statement they all had deflated a bit. It was time really. They’d gotten well enough on their feet. Harry and Ron were accomplished Aurors, Ginny an invaluable player for the Harpies, after she and Hermione had gone back to finish their last year of Hogwarts, the latter of the two making a name for herself in the investigative department of the Magical Law Enforcement. She had already bought her first apartment and Ron was moving into the flat above the joke shop now that George and Angelina were getting a house. Things were moving along as one might expect. But that didn't stop the twinge of loss undercutting their necessary outward growth…
“Well, thanks for that downer Ron, let's eat.” Ginny said.
Hermione coveted this time of day with a fierce passion and had since her belated graduation from Hogwarts. After the chaos and grind of work that was a day at the ministry, she was all too happy to come here, and be with her friends… her family… With everything that had happened over so many years, being together was the one constant. A reminder that whatever else, they had survived… They ate together, trading news, gossip, jokes about the food and the outlook for the week. And when dinner was complete, they sat reading mail and the evening Prophet over coffee or dessert. Their schedules were so hectic with Ginny’s early practice, Harry and Ron’s time spent so unpredictably and her own many side projects on top of a full work day, mornings were often rushed and disjointed. But here they could relax into the evening and it was easily Hermione’s favorite time of day.
Tonight, Harry was speaking of the recent rise in incidents involving muggles and the hell it was ravaging on all departments across the Ministry. But Ron suddenly interjected, his face buried in the paper.
“Absolutely mad. Still can’t believe this.”
Harry put down his stack of mail long enough to lean over and see what Ron was reading then scoffed. “Ron, let it go already.”
“What?” Hermione asked.
Harry shook his head. “Malfoy.”
Oh. Him.
“I can’t believe they let him out to begin with, let alone actually put him back in the ministry!” Ron said incredulously.
“Isn't it considered community service?” Hermione asked distractedly. “I'm sure there's quite stringent requirements and monitoring.”
“Oh yeah.” Harry said gravely. “He can’t get so much as a fee for late taxes without risking prison. And if he’s ever caught in a crime of consequence…. The Kiss.”
Hermione suppressed a grimace of nausea. Kingsley had sent the dementors away from Azkaban immediately upon his oath of office, and he and several allies in the ministry had been trying for two years to get the ministry to stop using them altogether and outlaw the Kiss as a criminal penalty altogether. Thus far, unsuccessfully.
Ginny leaned over scanning the newspaper over her brother's shoulder and scoffed. “It's administrative stuff. Seems harmless.”
“He was supposed to be in prison for life.” Ron scowled.he continued to read. “‘The Ministry has not been forthcoming with the reasoning for the early release or new occupation, but an anonymous source says the order came as the result of a pardon from the minister himself at a closed hearing of the Wizengamot not open for public viewing or comment, a seldom used privilege of the Minister not often seen in recent years’. Ridiculous.”
Hermione didn't understand the reasoning for it herself. Lucius Malfoy had been unexpectedly released from prison 6 months ago, and 2 months ago, it was announced that he had been placed in administration in Law Enforcement of all places. No, it made little sense. But she knew and trusted Kingsley. It must have been a significant reason if the minister himself approved it and argued for it. The minister had either been hit with a particularly strong change of heart, or someone behind the scenes must have been working very hard to get Malfoy out of prison.
“Aurors have a different authority structure than the rest of DMLE.” Harry reminded him, “We don't deal with him.”
“I do.” Hermione huffed. “Every budget, travel permit, work order, counseling statement, everything, all has to go through him to be coordinated with everything else and other relevant departments.”
“Doesn't it bother you?” Ron asked with a disgusted look.
“Of course it does.” she said. “There’s just nothing to do about it. Believe me, I tried.”
Probably not the way Ron meant though. Yes, Lucius Malfoy bothered her. There was something intensely unsettling about the wizard and she couldn't put her finger on it. Most of her interactions over the years with Lucius had not been direct ones, at any point. They more… existed around each other rather than interacted. There was the chamber of secrets naturally. And the assault at the department of mysteries years ago, and of course her capture in his home, but until now… she had never had cause to actually look him in the eye, face to face and have a conversation with him.
And something nagged at her every time she did.
Sometimes it was the way he spoke. Saying something without saying it. Or issuing subtle threats layered under what anyone else might consider general conversation. Sometimes it was a feeling, an intriguing tingling that there was something she was missing, but it always remained just out of reach as she stared into his eyes, tormenting her and frustrating her…
This morning, though, the usual wide berth she gave the Malfoy patriarch was impossible to maintain…
Usually she sent an assistant to deal with him, or sent owls. But that day she’d been incensed. He had refused (for the third time) her budget proposal for the personnel changes in the investigative department. She walked quickly, the refused forms clutched tightly in her hand, her heels clicking a rapid rhythm on the polished floor. Her calf length skirt shifted so swiftly around her legs, the fabric stung.
Employees fell silent as she stormed into the administrative office, strode to the door she knew he was behind and spared only a single impatient glance at the desk of the secretary outside of it. “Is he in?” she asked, trying and failing to sound conversational and NOT like she wanted to start flinging hexes.
“Uh, M-Mr. Malfoy?” the raven haired witch stammered, “Yes, yes he is, Ms. Granger.”
“Lovely.”
She stood hastily. “I can, I can make you an appointment --”
“Absolutely not.” she said, brushing past the stunned witch and throwing open his office door with a harsh snap, and closing it forcefully behind her. She wasn’t about to give him yet another way to avoid her…
The arrogant prick didn’t so much as glance upward from whatever he was writing, his demeanor as nonplussed as the crisp black robes and tightly tied back hair made him appear.
“You’ll forgive my lack of surprise, seeing you here, Ms. Granger.” he said, in that bored, impervious drawl of his. “I could hear your temperamental fury from the moment you left your office.”
“You’re a smug son of a bitch, Malfoy!”
“Am I?” he asked. Still no eye contact. But then he never looked at her if it could be helped.
“Yes!” she insisted. “You have challenged and obstructed me through every possible turn! This is too much!” she crossed to his desk, head held high, not willing to betray in the slightest of hesitations that even after all this time, and every way he had been humiliated… she still found him intimidating.
“I would think,” she spat, leaning forward, palms flat on his desk. “That an allegedly accomplished businessman such as yourself would understand that to create a hire, one must offer a salary. We need an explosives expert.” She placed the crumbled rejected form in front of him. “The auror to replace the guard that was killed.” That form joined the first. “And a trainer for the new post mortem examiners.” That one she slapped down forcefully, the inkwell shifting slightly. “Which we can't do because you keep. Refusing. The budget amendments.”
He continued writing on the parchment in front of him. “Your budgeting is atrocious. Learn to write a proper proposal.”
Anger flared fresh. “My proposal is fine!” she said indignantly.
He finally looked up, leaning back in his chair, his silver eyes skewering her instantly and she faltered. Lucius Malfoy was far removed from the hollow, wretched man he’d once been. Gone was the dark, shadowed eyes and exhausted posture weakened by stress and pain. No, the years of war and Azkaban had fallen away, he was strong, vibrant and imposing, comfortable with his power, graceful in his own assumed superiority, and simultaneously unfairly and distractingly handsome.
It was infuriating really. Such an unpleasant man shouldn’t be allowed to have anything attractive about him… It caused thoughts that stirred up all manner of dubious moral quandaries…
But his eyes glinted in amusement, an insufferable smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “Tsk tsk, such pride, Ms. Granger.” he admonished, “But I suppose you cannot be blamed if your premature elevation to power has caused you to outrun your senses. Its a common problem in… shall we say… the over confident and under qualified?”
She ignored the barb and threw one of her own. “If I didn't know better I'd say you didn't care much for the idea of crimes being able to be investigated efficiently. I wonder why that is, Mr. Malfoy. Was human decency just too hard a feat to manage?”
She wasn’t prepared for his stern question. “Well. Do you?” he asked, lacing his fingers together calmly.
Hermone straightened, her brow furrowed. “Do I what?”
Malfoy’s gaze bored into hers and he smirked. “Know better?”
Instead of answering she crossed her arms, her jaw clenching and unclenching in the deepest of irritation. “Give me Finnegan.” she demanded, finally.
He raised an eyebrow.
“There’s been a sharp rise of hidden explosives, we need to know how they’re doing it before someone else gets hurt or dies. Give me Seamus Finnegan, and we can argue and trade blows over the rest of it later. You won’t see a single word from me on anything across your desk for the rest of the month.”
He looked at her impatiently. “That’s three days.”
“Three days of peace, take it or leave it.” she replied, keeping stubborn eye contact. She didn’t actually know what she’d do if “leave it” was his choice.
Malfoy tapped the end of his quill rapidly against the desk as he seemed to look her over, then picked up the parchments she had thrown down like a gauntlet and sifted through them. After an agonizingly long wait, he took the first form and tapped his wand against the page. The red denial across the top changed to a green approval.
“Very well, Ms. Granger. Deal taken.”
With a quiet huff, she extended her hand begrudgingly, but sincerely. They were professionals after all, or supposed to be, and she looked down in disbelief as instead of taking it, he simply glanced down expressionlessly, his eyes flicking back up to her face.
“Let's not get overly excited, Ms. Granger.”
The man was actually refusing to shake her hand?! She gave a breathless laugh of incredulous disbelief and seized the papers and stormed out as infuriated as when she arrived.
It had been a visit that only left her more flustered than before.
Oh, yes. Lucius Malfoy bothered her. Intensely.
Her reverie was broken by Ginny's sudden, excited shriek, “Oh my god!” she cried, leaning forward clutching the envelope and card she’d just opened in her hand, “Luna and Neville are getting married!”
Hermione leaned across the table, her own mail forgotten, “What?”
“Really?” Ron added.
“Yes!” she beamed, “We’ve all got an invitation,” she said, passing them out. She continued reading, “And they’re inviting us to the engagement dinner next week, that fancy restaurant in Diagon.”
Hermione went back to opening her mail, smiling as she listened to the others talking about the next in line for upcoming nuptials, and came to a larger envelope on the bottom of the stack. She paused with the envelope in her hand, brow furrowed as the noise around her faded and she looked at the address that was simply her name. No return address on the front or back…
She didn’t know what made her wave her wand over it to check for potions, or poisons or hexes but she did. It came up with nothing… but for some reason her suspicion was aroused.
She opened the envelope and pulled out the contents, surprised to see it was merely a torn out Daily Prophet article. It was one detailing the caseload of muggle involved incidents, accidents, unexplained events, breaches of secrecy spells and muggles ending up with wizard illnesses, and how the ministry as of yet had not discovered a common link between them or had any idea the reason for the increase. She knew all that of course. Behind that one were several articles from muggle papers, detailing several accidents, attacks, and odd occurrences that had not made the ministry's notice. But what drew her eye was a bold script across the top corner next to the headline. Two words.
Death Eaters.
She looked at it perplexed and searched the envelope for something else. But there was nothing. Just the article and the written answer atop the page. She held it up. “Do you know who brought this?”
Ginny looked up at her questioning. “Nope. Just came in with the post. Why?”
Hermione looked back down at the note. “No reason.”
Something teased at the edge of her memory. A coincidence surely. An impossibility really. But with all the odd things that had been happening to her and around her lately… she wondered.
Hermione rose slowly still staring at the envelope and the note and made a vague excuse to her friends before going into the hall and ascending the stairs. She reached her bedroom with no windows, and boxes being readied for moving piled in each corner and slipping off her heels she walked to the bed and sat down next to the nightstand.
She had not opened this drawer in quite some time…
It was not that it held unpleasant memories. Not entirely. But she could easily find herself lost in the remembering, and wasting hours reading through sonnets that stirred her thoughts when she should be working and so she tried very hard not to start but sometimes… she needed the comforting nostalgia it provided.
Hermione closed her hand around the cool iron knob and pulled. A soft smile graced her lips as she reached in and lifted first the book of sonnets. A bit of dust gathered on it and she wiped it clean, holding it up to her nose and resisting the urge to open it. The thornless dried rose was long robbed of its fragrance but it stirred the memories and warmed her heart all the same. She set both aside. It was a different item she sought tonight.
Beneath the black silk blindfold, was the folded note left for her so long ago. She touched it gently before unfolding it and looking at it once more. Reading the words brought a smile to her eyes and an ache to her chest. But she forced it down and laid it on her bed next to the prophet article and envelope. She knew the spell. It was standard investigative work. She tapped the handwriting of each with her wand.
“Revelare et comparare.”
With bated breath she waited. The words glowed and images of them lifted from the pages and arranged themselves over top of one another and after a moment glowed gently and melted into one another before dissipating in the air.
They were the same.
Luke.
A breathless laugh of disbelief fled her lungs and she raised her hands to thread through her hair. Her stress vanished and she knew this was no trick. But where had he been and why now to reach out when he had been so certain she would never encounter him again?
But despite the questions, she was elated. He was alive. More than that, he had reached out to her. And her heart soared with excitement and relief.
So distant did all the events after the war’s end seem to her that sometimes she convinced herself it was all a fever dream. But she had tangible reminders that could hardly be ignored. Not puzzling out his identity proved harder than she thought. She could ask Kreacher to track down an elf named Mitzy, she could find out what children were born that year and cross reference it with divorces. Follow through on his jest and run that against property owners in Wales and—
But she didn’t.
It chafed that she was deliberately choosing willful ignorance. But when she remembered his aid to her, she could hardly bring herself to strip him of the only thing he had asked her for. His anonymity. And so, she went on with life. She studied. She worked. She dreamed. She planned. She met men and broke hearts. Had her own broken a few times. But every now and then a scent would come to her, a wisp of memory and she would find herself sitting at the edge of her bed much like she did tonight, running the length of black silk that had been her blindfold so long ago, the memory of a kiss in the shadows, a man in darkness, a firm and comforting presence amidst chaos and pain. A reminder that once upon a time, she had had a guardian angel.
But there were other moments. Moments when something magical and foreign flared up in her and she was taken off guard. Foreign a feeling as it was, it was familiar as well. Feelings and emotions that weren't hers coming to the surface. It wasn’t frequent or constant. But when it happened it was so intense as to be mystifying. The first time it happened, she was giving a presentation in her redo year of Hogwarts, Charms class, and half way through her project she was overcome with such a violent wave of despair, hopelessness and grief... So shocking was the sudden onslaught, that she fled the room to the gaping confusion of her professor and classmates and doubled over in the hallway struggling for composure and breath and when it was over, she sank to the steps, arms around her middle, and wept.
The incident had disturbed her deeply for days afterwards. It had taken a bit to orient herself, but once she did she felt the familiar undercurrent that she’d known so many months previously, and she knew it was connected to the man she had known briefly as ‘Luke’. She could feel the flare of his magic triggering her own, and she spent several days in saddened worry, knowing that wherever he was, he was suffering terribly. And she had no idea how to get to him or know he was alright, let alone return the favor of aid that he had extended to her. And she could only stare out of the window of the dormitory into the rain and darkness, a blanket clutched around her to stave off the chill and hope that wherever he was and whatever he was going through… that her warm thoughts somehow reached him…
The feeling eventually faded and she could only wonder if he was safe, for it did not happen often - waves of anxiety, of confliction and confusion… sometimes of rage. And she knew she was feeling his distress. But she soon concluded she couldn’t control it and could neither banish nor summon it. And she both dreaded and coveted the moments she would feel it. Covet because it was at least confirmation that somewhere in the world he was still alive. Dreaded because she was so utterly helpless to do anything to help him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The following weekend, Hermione went ahead of her friends, needing a solitary breather in the warm night air as they lingered to talk to some mutual acquaintances in the restaurant. It had been a pleasant evening with Neville and Luna full of reminiscing and future wedding plans. Their presence here was to be asked to be in the wedding party, to which all four of them readily agreed. But enjoyable as the evening was, Hermione had far too much on her mind and soon found herself overwhelmed in the close space with so many people around.
With a deep steadying breath, Hermione smoothed the wrinkles from her cocktail dress and began to walk slowly and aimlessly as she waited for Ginny, Harry and Ron. Diagon Alley had an altogether different feel to it in the dead of night. Most shops were closed save a few late ones and the fact that there was practically nothing with the lights on inside told her they’d lost track of time a while ago. The alley was peaceful. Empty. A rare moment of calm, almost complete silence in the usual bustle of her days, and she was content enough to lose herself in it for a moment.
A mistake. For she had let herself get so lost in the ambiance, she didn’t notice the shimmer of disillusionment at the corner she passed…
Strong hands grabbed her and pulled her into the alley, one palm coming firmly against her lips. There had been no danger in Diagon Alley in years so she’d not even had her wand in hand, it was secured to a holster beneath her skirt. Somewhere, Mad Eye was rolling in his grave. Constant vigilance, Granger!” Her heart pounded as she screamed uselessly against the man’s hand, striving to wrench herself from his grip or at least maneuver so she could fight but he too quickly pinned her to the brick wall of the nearest building with his body.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Forgive me. I had to be sure you wouldn’t scream…”
Hermione froze and stopped struggling in shock, her wild, ready to battle eyes, turned perplexed rather than fearful. The initial adrenaline rush from the surprise ebbed, and a tingle of familiarity coursed through her at his touch… The warm hand on her face. Touch firm but non threatening. The way she fit in his grip was more embrace than force. The altered voice barely above a whisper. A spark of magic that flared and spiraled when his hand touched her skin…
“Don’t turn around,” he warned.
And slowly his grip loosened, his hand dropping from her mouth cautiously and resting gently on her shoulder, the other against her hip.
Hermione was breathing deeply to collect herself. “Luke?”
There was a pause. And then,
“Yes. It's me.”
The air caught in her lungs and she laid her palm flat against the brick wall in front of her to hold herself up as relief flooded her body and weakened her knees, but then a measure of indignation.
“It's been 4 years, where the hell have you been?!” she demanded quietly.
She felt rather than heard a deep, low laugh in his chest against her back. “Did you miss me?”
“Yes!” she said quickly. Then quietly. “Yes. I did. You said I’d never hear from you again.”
Her quick, honest response seemed to surprise him and after a pause she felt his hand at her shoulder flex slightly, his fingertips causing gooseflesh to burst across her bare skin. “I didn’t think it would be possible. Have you been well?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.
Hermione swallowed and nodded. “Yes I have. I’m…. I’m glad to know you’re alright. But I don’t understand… Why are you here, why now?”
“To warn you.” he answered. “Hermione… you must stop this. I gave you that note to alert you. To keep you safe. Not so you’d continue chasing after them…”
The death eaters.
“I had to.” she explained. “They weren’t exactly receptive to my intuition or an anonymous tip and they didn’t think it worth investigating.”
“Well.” he replied. “I suppose it's a good thing I brought more than that.”
She felt something that felt like a stack of folded parchment, not unlike the one he'd given her the day she left him in Hogsmead, pressed into her belly. She reached down and took it in her hand. “What's this?”
“Proof the death eaters are still active and gaining strength. Give it to the Aurors. Leave it be, Hermione. Your reform work is already making you enemies. Give them no more reason to target you.”
“More reason?” Hermione repeated. “I don’t understand how you know all this, why are they back?”
“Because they. Have not. Given. Up.” he insisted, his voice urgent against her ear. “Fanatics. True ones. They do not quit, they simply find a new cause…a new figurehead to worship.”
Her heart pounded. “What figurehead? What do they want?”
“I do not know,” he admitted. “I’m trying to find out…”
Her brow furrowed. “Find out – no!” Panic rose in her throat. “Luke, you have to stay away from these people…”
“I cannot.” he countered simply.
“Why?!” She asked in distress, all manner of dangers being conjured in her mind.
She felt his face press gently against her temple, his hand drifting down her arm to thread his fingers through hers. “Do you remember what you told me before you left?”
Thoroughly confused, her mind a whirlwind trying to keep up with the thoughts and feelings raging through her rapidly. She shook her head. “About what?”
“Sometimes you cannot undo it. You can only go forward… and do things differently.”
Before she could say a word in response, however, they heard voices and laughter approaching. She looked towards the street and felt the brush of his cloak against her hair as he turned as well.
“Be careful.” he said quickly. “Stay alert. You are a threat to them.”
His hand crossed in front of her face and rested gently against her cheek the barest of moments before he suddenly released her and when she turned, she saw only a tall cloaked figure walking briskly down the side street before disapparating into nothing…
The voices materialized as Ginny, Ron, Harry and Luna and Neville rounded the corner expectantly. “See, I told you, it is Hermione” Ginny said certainly.
“Who were you talking to Hermione?” Luna asked.
Hermione glanced once more at the space he’d disappeared from, her hand subconsciously drifting to the place at her cheek still tingling from his touch…
“No one.” she lied breathlessly. “Just a passing stranger.”
Notes:
I hope you enjoyed this little sneak peek. It might take me a while to figure out a solid plot outline and lighten my project list but the planning stage is going well thus far, so when I get there I think I’m going to have a blast writing this. Gah. I'm excited.
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