Witch Hunt- Chapter One.
A/N: This work dedicated to my lovely Amy.
She watched the castle burn. Dark pillars of smoke slithered from the high rooftops twisting and wreathing into the sky. Bright flashes of fire waltzed across hallways and danced through the treetops. Before she had never thought that fire could be anything but chaotic. Compared to magic though, it almost seemed predictable. Smoke would rise, fire would burn, but eventually the flames would be quenched and the ash would disperse. It was easy, predictable, with simple solutions that could be hard to execute, yet still anyone be it Muggle or Wizard knew how to snuff a fire.
That was the trouble with magic it was so unpredictable. There are many facets of magic, and Hermione knew them all. She could summon a wind to blow out the flames, pour a foam potion to extinguish the fire, or transfigure the inferno and ash into something benign. There were many more options and they all did race through her brilliant mind but she ignored them, because her trouble wasn't with the fire.
Her problem was the source of the fire, wizards, and specifically dark wizards called the Death Eaters. This was the problem with magic. Too many wizards, too many types of magic, and too many possible spells they could use to rip her apart. Maybe that was the reason she studied so fervently. Coming from a non-magical upbringing, the ability to use magic was of course a fantasy come true. She was pragmatic though, and Hermione knew early on the dangers with magic and set out to arm herself in this new world. Almost any spell if used creatively could do as much damage as it could do well. The blatant flippancy some wizards used when practicing magic was almost insulting. So she studied, enjoying learning every bit of anything so she would never be caught unprepared. Almost all of it had come in handy in her misadventures with Harry and Ron.
Today was the day of the Battle of Hogwarts, and it was not the first day she had lived through it. She stroked a thumb over the delicate hourglass incased in gold before tucking it back under her shirt. It was possibly the last time-turner in existence, the rest of them destroyed when the ministry was attacked. She herself didn't know why Dumbledore had trusted her with it, but a secret inheritance lead her to a vault below Gringott's bank a few days ago.
Her brown hair bobbed as she walked through the vacant corridors, sticking close to the shadowed walls just in case. She climbed a tall set of stairs and settled into a windowsill, hiding herself partially behind a curtain. From her satchel the witch pulled out a pair of binoculars and looked down into the courtyard below.
It was a sight that she had seen many times in her nightmares. Children, some older than her but most of them younger clumped into groups with their wands raised. Some of them could barely hold their wands, because their hands were shaking so hard from fear.
Smoke, wispier and more intangible than the smog from the fire swarmed and harassed the students. A loud crack was the only warning they got before the Death Eater came out of its apparition. Flashes of light lit up the courtyard, but the blinding green strobe of the killing curse felled multiple children before the dark wizard was brought down. It was a disarming spell, followed by a clumsy stun spell cast by the ginger haired wizard that could only be Ron.
Hermione chocked on a cry, tears falling down freely from seeing Ron alive again. She wanted to call out to him, warn him about the second wand in the wizard's cloak, but she couldn't risk the consequences.
She saw him die for the second time. Then there was another loud crack, and the Death Eater escaped. She put down the binoculars and took out her notebook to scribble into it all that she noted and observed about the Death Eater. She was going to track Ron's killer down.
The first and actual time Ron died Hermione was not there to see it. She was off in another part of the school fighting her own part of the war. When she saw the little gold necklace in the vault the desire to see how he died immediately seized her mind. She knew the risks; his death was weeks not hours in the past, but she chose to disregard them. After all she played an important part for years in saving the world, she should deserve bending a rule or two. Especially since Ron was her best friend and her something, a lover that never got a chance to really be with her.
After seeing him die though, all she wanted was revenge. This trip was the only other time she traveled back to the battle, but this time she wanted to watch his killer. There were many Death Eaters still not accounted for, and she was determined to find Ron's murderer. She wasn't exactly sure what she was going to do when she found the wizard though. The rage in her heart screamed for bloody revenge, but the rational voice in her mind said lock them in Azkaban for life.
The world around her vanished as she was ripped from it, returning her back to her small room in the Burrow. She lurched forward from her seat on the bed, collapsing onto the ground and grabbing the nearby waste bucket to puke into it. Her muscles seized and cramped painfully. Traveling that far back was rough on her body, this would be her last time to attempt it.
A frantic knocking at the door pulled Hermione's attention from the trash bin. Fleur, a recent widow who also had taken up residence at the Weasley's burst in with a panicked look on her beautiful face.
" 'Ermione!" She cried out in her singsong voice. "What is ze matter? I 'eard a crash and then retching!"
Hermione took a moment to respond. To Fleur it looked as if she was fighting back another wave of nausea, but the truth was that Hermione was gathering her wits.
She never really knew what to do with Fleur, because she was unsure of how she even felt about the girl. Fleur was obviously stunning. Her golden hair, light eyes, and perfect bone structure were inherited from her Veela grandmother. If life was fair Fleur would have been born stupid and evil to balance out her immense beauty, but it was the way she carried herself, that made her really enchanting. She was a Tri-Wizard Champion, and that meant she was brave, charismatic, quick witted, and strong. She had a deeply compassionate side to her, especially when it came to family. Because of this Fleur charmed everyone around her, regardless of gender. Which is why Hermione didn't know how to deal with her. Part of Fleur frustrated her, she was a seemingly perfect woman and anyone would feel insecure to be compared to her. But there was still a part in herself that was attracted to this beautiful French girl, and that bothered Hermione even more.
"It's nothing, I'm alright. Just a bit of dizziness."
Fleur gazed down at her, her sharp eyes examining the situation as the gears of her mind clicked into place. "You are not, you know."
Hermione burst into laughter and set the trash bin aside. "Good god Fleur, no I am not pregnant. Honestly how would I have had the time for any of that with all that's been going on."
Fleur relaxed a bit, and a gentle relieved smile brushed her lips. "Are you zick then? Do you need zome tee?"
Hermione tenderly picked herself up and smoothed out her skirt. "I'm not sick but some tea would be lovely thank you." Fleur left and Hermione collapsed on her bed with a sigh. She chuckled to herself a little; pregnant, of all the things Fleur could have come up with. Her laughs became dirtied with bitterness, she and Ron had never gotten to that point, and now she had nothing left of him. Not that she wanted to be a single mother, but a few years down the line she had imagined starting a family with him.
She pulled out her notebook from the bag. To her relief her notes and drawings were still there. Time travel was a tricky business and she was unsure if the changes she made to an item brought with her in the past would persist to the future.
She traced a finger over the drawn lines of the first wand, feeling the wavy patches that were misshapen by her tears. It was a real beauty carved from imported rosewood. It would be impossible for her to tell what the core was because she was not a wand expert, but she recalled in the back of her mind that cores from fire beasts paired well with rosewood. She bet that the core was either a phoenix tail feather, or a dragon heartstring. She recalled from memory the shine on it; the whole length was treated with expensive lacquer. The design of the wand was unnecessarily ornate, covered with intricate swirls and flourishes. This was definitely the Death Eater's personal wand. It was a known fact that the closest followers of Voldemort were of noble blood and old money.
The second wand was much simpler, stolen from a dead student Hermione supposed. It was longer, about 12 inches to the other's 9, and carved from a humble maple. The pattern on it was Celtic, a few inordinate knots twisted around the handle. She doubted that this wand would provide her any information about the Death Eater, but she would leave no stone unturned. At the very least she could send it back to the owner, or more grimly, the family of the owner.
She then turned her attention to her sketch of the Death Eater. By the broadness of the shoulder and the height, she assumed this particular one was a man. He was about 6'3", taller than normal, which made him all the easier to find. The wizard of course had the Dark Mark on the underside of his fair colored arm.
Hermione, still deep in thought, drifted over to her wardrobe and locked the notebook in the top shelf. She looked up, and nearly startled to see her own reflection. No wonder Fleur had thought she was sick, the long days indoors had left her skin unnaturally pale. For the past weeks grief had been her make up, and she wore it still. Dark bags hung below her eyes and aged her, so that she could hardly believe she was nineteen. She almost pitied herself, but pity wouldn't solve anything.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. She called for the visitor to enter, and Fleur laden with a tray of tea emerged from behind the creaky door. Hermione accepted her cup with a polite thank you, and was mildly surprised when Fleur didn't leave. Instead she took up her own teacup and motioned for Hermione to sit beside her on the bed. Hermione tentatively sat beside the other woman, unsure what she wanted with her, and annoyed that her quiet time of thinking was being encroached upon.
She looked Hermione in the eyes and held her gaze. "I am worried about you."
Hermione hesitated, and fought the urge to look away. "You don't have to be." Hermione lied, she wasn't all right in body and most likely mind, but she was beginning to see her way out of this despair, which was good enough.
Fleur smiled warmly at her saying, "I 'ope o. I care about you so much 'ermione." The young witch fought not to blush as Fleur moved to hold her hand. Hermione almost jumped at the sudden contact, which was probably her first human interaction in days. It enhanced her discomfort more that Fleur's hands were soft, and Hermione enjoyed holding them.
She shifted in her seat nervously. "Thanks Fleur for your concern. But really, I am fine."
Fleur's sharp blue eyes scanned Hermione, settling to rest at Hermione's lips. A chill ran up Hermione's spine and a thought popped in her head so surreal it had to be crazy; that this beautiful French girl was about to kiss her. Hermione flinched, and Fleur regretfully pulled away. "I am glad zen." She said as she slowly stood up. Hermione let her hands slip out of Fleur's, to rest in her lap. Fleur made for the door, flashing Hermione one last longing smile.
For what seemed to be the tenth time that day, Hermione collapsed onto her back into the soft blanket of her bed. She closed her eyes as her head throbbed in thought and confusion. Was that what she thought it was? Fleur? Interested in her? Hermione felt a wave of regret wash through her, the kind that came after a missed opportunity. But that too had to be crazy right? It didn't matter, the young witch decided. Contrived romance aside there was still the matter of the Death Eater, and that was more important.
"And Ron." Hermione thought to herself, a fresh ache of pain squeezing her heart. She was not ready to let him go yet. But maybe someday, when her conscious was clear she could find love again with another.