Disclaimer: Harry Potter is complete property of J.K. Rowling, and not myself. This goes for the entire story!
"Vous Et Nul Autre" - You and No Other
By Kaimaru
Every muscle in Hermione's body ached as she slowly awoke, sliding both palms on either side of her head and pressing them in to the cold floor to prop herself up. Her joints creaked and her damp clothes stuck uncomfortably to her stiff body. She groaned. While shoving her bushy mass of chocolate curls behind her shoulders, Hermione blinked a few times before the united mass of night slowly expanded in to individual shadows, shapes, and the black abyss of either end of a wide corridor.
The corridor seemed as wide as it seemed high, multiple double-doors evenly spaced and a ghostly, porcelin chessboard flooring peaking out from beneath a strip of mauve carpeting blanketing the middle. Large, gilded frames were propped on the walls, but they were all empty with the exception of one, the closest to her.
The painter's style, as well as the girl's clothing, she recognized as French aristocracy, pre-French Revolution. A young woman sat dozing in a window sette, her chest rising and falling in gentle breaths. Her heavy gowns draped around her form like soft, purple clouds, but unlike her fellow Parisian courtesans, her dark hair rained down her back in unbridled glory and her face unblemished with pale chalks and rouge. Behind her, the countryside was dim, nocturnal, and peaceful.
"What in Merlin's name..." Hermione muttered to herself. Her brow wrinkled in thought. How did she get here? Last thing she could remember, she had been at home, studying...
Voldermort must be behind this, she thought darkly. But why would he leave her unguarded, in a hallway no less, if he had kidnapped her? It could be a trap, but the only purpose the Dark Lord would have to capture her would be to bait Harry. And if that were so, he would of killed her already. She was of no use to him alive, afterall. So...
"Hey, you. Girl!" Hermione spun in the direction of the voice, hearing a soft giggle. No one else in the hallway, only her and the portrait. She glanced again at the almst obscured painting only to see the girl grinning, fully awake, eyes focused on her. The girl giggled again. "Yes, I mean you."
Hermione watched her wearily as she swung her feet to the painted wooden floor, revealing delicate gold slippers, while bending forward excitely. "Where are you from, mademoiselle?" She spoke with a girly French lilt that reminded her of Fleur Weasley, but Hermione felt, if not saw, the good-natured mischief of the portrait. "Surely your lover plans not to meet you in these dank and chilly hallway, with so many empty, laviscious rooms."
Hermione felt her cheeks heat up. L-Lover?
"I'm lost." She confessed.
The portrait girl clucked. "Never a wise choice to stray from the, uh, pack in a strange place, mademoiselle." She reprimanded. "A wonderful, handsome theif may steal you away to distant lands of beauty and wealth, and steal your heart as well. Or something of the like. Who would save you then, non?"
Try as she might, Hermione couldn't fend off a grin. "I don't think a 'something of the like' would be much of a bother." She laughed.
"Oui. How about warts and foul temper?"
"How's his personality?"
"So-so." She shrugged, smiling.
"Could be worse. He could be dumb."
"Oui. And would be a great, great tragedy for us clever, young beauties. For us to have no one to spar our wits with in a most unappreaciative world of warty, foolish husbands." She sniffed daintily at the outrage. "Tis ever thus."
"Could you tell me," Hermione paused, searching the dark hallway for any other signs of life. "Where everyone has gone?"
The french girl nodded jubilantly. "To the ball, of course!"
Hermione jerked her head towards the girl. "Ball?" She said incredulously.
"Oui. Is that not what you are here for? I admit, your costume is very strange, but I do not recognize you still. A foreign princess, maybe?"
"Ye-no. Actually, I haven't a clue how I came here." Hermione shoved herself to her feet, and as the blood rushed to her head she fought the waves of dizziness. "I was home, studying in my room when-"
"Studying!" The girl cried, followed by a string of foriegn curses Hermione couldn't
follow. "On a night such as this, a young woman shouldn't be banished with her studies. She must be dancing, flirting, celebrating her youth!"
"I didn't know there was a dance-" Hermione reminded her, slightly annoyed.
"Pah! That is no excuse." She waved it off with her hand.
"Well, if I have no idea where I am, when I am, whom I'm with, how can I be worried about a silly - " Hermione stopped as voices echoed through the corridor- Both male, and approaching quickly. She turned just as the portrait's eyes widened in delight before catching Hermione's wide-eyed, frightened expression. "Do not fear, miss Granger." She spoke softly, smiling if a bit smugly. "When the mademoiselle cannot find the theif, then, of course, the thief must find her."
Hermione squelched the terrified scream jumping to her throat as the footfalls on the carpet abruptly halted and the voices died away. Her back was turned to them, and she could be hit by curses without any defense, so she turned to face them head on, chin raised. However, instead of men in death-eater robes and wands drawn stood two men in rich, extravagent costumes and masks, staring at her in surprise.
"Granger?"
"Hermione?"
Hermione gulped, taking her chances as she turned the opposite way and ran. But within a few meters, a dark shadow loomed over her again, a gloved hand snatching her wrist. Brisk shouts of, "a spy! Spy!" Filled the corridors. She struggled, but the shadow didn't relent, speaking so lowly she couldn't understand its commands. Inhaling deeply, Hermione's prepared to scream, too frightened to think clearly. Only images of manicial, blood-thirsty death eaters and their pale, snake-like leader filling her mind's eye with desperation. Then, her heart leapt as the shadows melted in to an obscured, masked face pressing intimately against hers in a matter of moments, like a Dementor's kiss. Warmth spread through her; she couldn't move. Death didn't feel like this.
CRASH
Hermione jerked away, carmel-colored eyes wide and breathing heavily. But the dim, chilly hallway was gone, replaced by her tidy bedroom, a light breeze ruffling her lace curtains and sunlight casting designs against the pale carpeting. In the middle of the room, pushed against the opposite wall, her queen bed remained disused, and the digital clock on the night stand displayed 10:11am in bright red numbers.
Blinking a few times, Hermione exhaled deeply, shoving a hand through her thick hair. Just a dream. Feeling her heart slowly regain it's even tempo, and repeating 'just a dream' like a mantra in her head, Hermione felt her mind return from her nightmare waltz with death to reality. But she hadn't died, and the shadow certainly hadn't been trying to kill her. It hadn't done anything besides...
Fingertips pressed to her lips in memory, she felt her cheeks warm.
He-it kissed her! Groaning lowly, she pushed away from her desk. She rarely had dreams of that nature, much less one containing Death eaters. They were probably the least romantic beings in existence, right up there with the Dementors and Voldermort himself. Ron and Harry would right out have a laughing fit if they knew! Not that she would ever tell them- of that she could be certain. But why couldn't it have been Charlie Weasley? Or Viktor Krum?
Wait. What am I thinking? She smiled to herself, shaking her head. Both were completely off-limits. Yet entertaing thoughts of the free-spirited, adventurous Charlie and a passionate Viktor for a few dreamy moments elevated her mood slightly. But they still were off-limits.
Glancing down, her Ancient Runes textbook lay wide-open on her desktop, her notes to the right. She had written two full pages of notes and half of a third before the the 'K' in 'Berkana' made a jagged descent across the parchment. She must of fallen asleep part-way through her studies. The last memory she had before passing out had been the faintest hints of the sunrise to the East outside her second-story window. She still had another seven and a half pages to go before she could begin the project for the class.
Bending to scoop her eagle owl quill off the floor and placing it back in it's inkwell, she stood and stretched her arms overhead, working out the kinks her unusual sleep position had produced. Deciding it would be better to have some breakfast and take a quick shower before getting back to her homework would be more productive, she exited her room and walked towards the stairs at the end of the hall.
This hadn't been the first night she'd fallen asleep at her desk. School had just ended two weeks ago, and Hermione had dutifully divided her time between her own homework and researching hexes and defensive spells that could be handy in the pending months. There wasn't a doubt in her mind the final battle between Harry and Voldermort would happen before their graduation from Hogwarts. In less than a year, all of them - friend, family, or foe - would be fighting for their lives. Hermione knew they could only prepare, anticipate, and support each other the best they could, but more often than not, even that didn't seem like it was doing enough. So Hermione studied, memorizing spells until her mind felt more like a codex than a brain, and owling recent developments and possible clues about the Horcruxes to the Order. Although it made her summer a bit reclusive, locked away in dusty libraries and collapsed on her desk by the end of the night, she knew it was nessacary.
Her mum's voice floated up the bent stairwell. "It's all right, dear. Accidents happen." Hermione titled her head curiously, slowly descending the wide stairs as the conversation became clearer.
"We weren't expecting any visitors this early." Her father chuckled. "No one makes an enterance quite like you do, Maeve."
"I do hope that is meant as a compliment, Matthew." The voice spoke clearly and melodically, with a warm french accent. "It must have been years since anyone besides my dear Aliana has apparated in your home."
The stairs ended in the foyer, and Hermione could see her mum bent over a pile of broken teacups with a dustbin and brush in hand. Hermione realized this must of been the crash that woke her up from her dream. "More often then you think. Hermione has friends flitting in and out every weekend."
"Suitors?"
Her father stood off to the side, listening to the turn the conversation had taken with unabashed amusement. A lithe, elderly woman with curly silver hair pulled back in a plait stood just inside the doorway, wearing a matching burgundy designer blazer and pant set. A large, unorthodox hat adorned her head, wrapped with pink swathes of pink and yellow fabric and decorated with little songbirds charmed to flit about and chirp drooping over her twinkling dark green eyes.
Aliana chuckled. "Don't get too excited, mum. Hermione's more focused on her studies than any cute boys right now."
Hermione instantly recognized the elderly woman, and in her surprise, exclaiming, "Grandmaman?"
Three sets of eyes lifted immediately to meet hers. Hermione noticed the wand lightly clasped in her grandmama's hand do an indiscrete swish, swish, flick and the mess her mother had been cleaning disspeared as well as the dustbin and brush.
Hermione's grandma never broke eye contact with her grinning grand-daughter, and returned it with a bright smile of her own. "Hermione, ma belle petite-fille. You've grown!" She paused, and Hermione followed her line of vision to Ron's huge, worn-out Chudley Cannons jersey and the pair of shorts she had worn to bed last night. She figured her hair looked awful as well. "Darling, what are you wearing?"
So did I fool anyone with the opening? I was hoping it would be a (small, very small) plot twist. And I managed to introduce her grandmother in this chapter! Honestly, I'm exhausted after writing this, but this is the best form of procrastination. Clean house? vacuum? Organize the bookshelves? wha:-) Hope it wasn't too bad. This is my first attempt at a long-term HP fanfic and my second attempt at a HP fic in general. So wish me luck!
French/English Dictionary:
Oui - Yes
Non - No
Mademoiselle - Miss
ma belle petite-fille - my beautiful grand-daughter
Grandmaman - Grandmama
Published June 8, 2007
2,132 Words