Hermione crumpled up her parchment with a disgruntled huff and hurled it into the Veil. The tattered black curtain rippled gently as the wad of paper passed through.
"Crap," she said, her frustrated hiss echoing across the empty room. "I probably shouldn't have done that."
For several months Unspeakable Granger had been trying to discover an arithmantic equation that could predict the Veil's magic. She knew many had tried to decode its ancient magic before, but she was the Brightest Witch of Her Age; surely she had a decent chance.
Though it wasn't her specific job duty, Harry had pulled some strings to allow her to work on this special side project. Hermione had a fascination with the Veil that she couldn't explain. Whenever she entered the Death Chamber, every cell in her body seemed to tingle, and her mind raced with possibilities of unraveling its magical code.
She walked up to the Veil, the click of her sensible heels reverberating through the Chamber. She stood right before it and heard its familiar faint murmurings. In the beginning, the sense of presence behind the shimmering curtain unsettled her. Now, it was a familiar friend.
"Tell me your secrets." She whispered.
"Hermione," a faint voice murmured back.
Hermione jumped back as if shocked. Had she heard it correctly?
She was just being silly. She had been up all night thinking about number charts, it must have been some delusion of her sleep-addled mind.
"Tempus," she said in a shaky voice.
The time 23:47 appeared in front of her in shining gold numerals. Hermione hadn't meant to spend four hours studying the Veil. Time seemed to disappear when she was alone in the Death Chamber.
Gathering her things, Hermione left the Death Chamber and walked into the empty corridor of the Department of Mysteries, lost in thought. She didn't notice the way the Veil billowed when she turned her back.
—
The next morning, Hermione awoke drenched in cold sweat. Her head was pounding and her throat cracked with dryness. She stood up, groaning as her stomach turned, and ambled her way into the kitchen.
The flat was small, but seemed much bigger now that Ron had moved out. He had taken most of the furniture and wall decorations. Hermione had hated them when they were there, but now the room seemed barren. She didn't miss Ron much, or even get jealous of the many socialites he was photographed with in the Daily Prophet. She had her work and that was enough.
Hermione gulped down a glass of water and put a kettle on the stove. She could have made her tea magically, but the muggle way comforted her somehow. As the water boiled, she heard the sound of the Floo coming from the other room. She raked a hand through her unruly curls and and walked into the living room. Ginny's face was beaming through the fireplace. Even through the flames, her face looked flushed and plump, aglow with the joy of her second pregnancy.
"Hermione!"
"Hi, Ginny," she replied weakly. "How are you doing?"
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Ginny said in a singsong voice.
Hermione frowned.
"Er… am I?"
"We were supposed to go shopping for my baby shower today, remember? I need a new gown for the pictures."
"Oh, bollocks. I completely forgot. I'm so sorry, Ginny."
Hermione sighed at the prospect of spending hours at Madam Malkin's.
"I'm really not feeling well. I must have caught something at work. Is there any way we can reschedule?"
Ginny rolled her eyes good-naturedly.
"It's fine, Hermione. I'll just go with Lav."
Hermione grimaced. Lavender was rumored to be one of Ron's new toys.
"Is there anything you need? I've probably got some pepper-up or cough draught lying around."
"That's all right, I should be fine. Thank you, though".
"Alright then. Harry and James say hello!"
Hermione smiled.
"Tell them I miss them".
The two girls said goodbye and Hermione was left staring out the window at the overcast London sky.
—
For the rest of the weekend, Hermione was bed-ridden, seemingly getting worse every hour. She had performed several diagnostic spells and could find nothing wrong with her. The bottles of pepper-up potion she gulped down barely seemed to help. When Monday morning rolled around, Hermione decided she'd go to work anyway. There was no way she could feel worse.
Hermione Floo'd into the Atrium and became overwhelmed with the flurry of activity. Walking quickly past the security desk, she kept her head down, letting her curls shield her face. Even seven years after the war, she was somewhat of a celebrity and couldn't go out in public without being recognized. She was thankful no one spoke to her in the lift.
As Hermione stepped into the circular room of the Department of Mysteries, the pounding headache that had been plaguing her all weekend immediately subsided. She was too relieved to question the coincidence.
Hermione entered her small cubicle and sat down at her desk, and the Department Head Miranda Firestone strode in right behind her.
"Ah, Hermione, just the person I was looking for," Firestone said, plopping an impossibly thick scroll onto Hermione's cluttered desk, "We just got these documents from the Institute of Durinn. Incredibly detailed ancient runework. I'll need a complete translation by the end of the day."
"I'll get right on that," Hermione replied with a tight smile.
Unlike Harry and Ron, Hermione had returned to Hogwarts after the war to finish her NEWTs. She had worked her way up from the bottom to a fairly important position at the Department of Mysteries. But the way Firestone saw her, she was just a glorified intern. Most of her days consisted of menial filing work rather than the real magical research she had hoped to be doing.
With a dispassionate sigh, Hermione unrolled the delicate parchment and began the tedious work of translation.
An hour after her coworkers had already left, Hermione finally finished her work. She magically filed it to her supervisor's mailbox and giddily scurried down the hall to the Death Chamber. Even though Hermione still felt feverish, she had brainstormed some new calculations that she had been missing before.
Hermione swung open the heavy door, and almost collapsed from the sudden cooling sensation that enveloped her body. She felt light, refreshed, and awakened for the first time in days. Stepping into the room felt like a cool, moist rag on her hot forehead.
"What in Godric's name…" Hermione said to herself.
Hermione racked her brain for a magical or medical explanation of the immediate relief of her symptoms, but couldn't think of anything. She would have to ask Hannah Abott, Neville's girlfriend who was training as a Healer, for any possible explanations.
Hermione gazed at the Veil from across the dark room. It seemed particularly shiny and inviting today. She felt something inside her pull her closer to the stone dais on which it stood.
When Hermione had first seen the Veil in her fifth year at Hogwarts, she hadn't been able to hear its whisperings. Now, she could perceive the quiet murmurs quite clearly, and they seemed to call out to her. She moved closer.
As she climbed the steps of the platform, the voices became louder. Hermione felt a heavy presence, stronger than what she had felt before. She knew she should be cautious, but she felt no fear. She stood directly in front of the Veil now, mesmerized by its gently rippling fabric.
"Hermione. Hermione. Hermione."
The sound of her name shocked Hermione out of her reverie. She jumped back as if burned. This time, she was absolutely sure she had heard her name.
Hermione was unsettled, but fascinated. She scribbled it in her notes for further research. While she often sat on the steps of the dais while doing her calculations, this time, she decided to work further away on the benches below.
—
"Hermione. Hermione. Hermione!"
She was awakened from a strange dream by a voice calling out to her. Hermione shot up, panicked. Harry was standing over her with a curious look on her face.
"Oh. It's you."
"You sound disappointed. I'm hurt," he joked.
Hermione laughed and stretched her sore back. It was then she realized she was lying at the foot of the dais. Was this where she had fallen asleep?
"How did I…."
"You must have fallen asleep here last night. Firestone is looking for you. You'd better get your are to your desk, she's in a fit."
"Bollocks," Hermione groaned and gathered her things.
Throughout the day, as Hermione worked on her menial tasks, fragments of the dream kept returning to her. Dark, intense eyes that seemed to pierce her soul. A pang of intense desire. And cool, smooth scales slithering across her skin. She recalled these flashes sensation, but couldn't quite piece the dream together.
Hermione decided not to visit the Death Chamber that evening. After another late night at work, all she wanted to do was slip into a hot bath with a muggle romance novel.
At home, Hermione turned the faucet on and stripped off her clothes. As the water ran, she looked in the mirror. Her eyes were tired, face pale and drawn. She looked like she hadn't been eating or sleeping very well, which she hadn't. Hermione closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she could have sworn she saw a flash of black in her honey brown irises.
—
In the middle of the night, Hermione awoke with a raging fever. She leaned off the edge of the bed and violently emptied the contents of her stomach. She managed to wandlessly clean the mess before stumbling out of bed.
Hermione knew she had to get to St. Mungo's. There had to be something wrong with her, some dark curse or magical malady that she couldn't recognize. She threw on a robe, tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace, and stepped in.
"St. Mungo's," Hermione croaked.
Only she never arrived at St. Mungo's.
Hermione found herself in the gilded hallway outside the Atrium. Without thinking, she knew where to go. With strength her body did not have, she staggered down the hallway into the lifts, and pounded level "9". She almost vomited again as the lift plummeted down to the lowest level. Hermione stumbled out of the elevator and down the hall until she reached the circular room. There, she turned the handle and pushed her body into the Death Chamber.
Unlike last time, relief was not immediate. Hermione had gained some strength from entering the room, but her body still raged with fever. She cried out with pain as she stepped closer to the veil, some unknown force pulling her closer.
When she reached the dais, Hermione crumpled on the steps.
"Please, no, oh Gods, no," she whimpered.
The force seemed to get stronger the closer Hermione got to the Veil. Pushing herself to her feet, she tried to step back, but only lurched forward. One hand reached forward as she climbed the steps on her hands and knees.
Hermione was crying in earnest now. No one had ever touched the Veil and survived. She knew that these would be her last moments. Her body kept moving jerkily until she stood before the veil and watched her hand plunge in. She closed her eyes.
Hermione hadn't expected to feel something on the other side. But there was a hand gripping hers tightly, not pulling her in, but almost trying to pull itself out. In horror, she fell back, yanking the hand and its attached form out. Hermione landed on the ground with a thud, a larger body following on top.
"Hello, Hermione," was the last thing she heard before she lost consciousness.
