Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
Author: Jane Evans. The Author has given official permission for translation.
Labyrinth of Memory is one of the most popular fanfics of the Russian fandom and the winner of Russian Dramione Awards as The Best WIP (the only possible award for that time).
Chapter 1
Soundtrack—"London Bombs," by Eskimo Joe
She was walking across a cold Hogwarts hall. There was no one around, and the stony silence was only disturbed by her hasty steps. Torches illuminated the mostly bare walls, decorated with a few pictures of sleeping wizards. It was late at night, and Hermione should have been in her bed long ago if everything had been normal, but . . . She looked at her watch and stopped. Ten minutes more.
Pressure was pumping in her temples, and her head felt as though it could explode at any moment. She closed her eyes so tightly that white spots dotted her vision. Her nails pressed into her palms. For some time, she had wanted to scream with intolerable pain—but not physical pain. Her soul was torn by an impending doom and endless sadness. There was only one thought helping her to refocus and get herself together: everything would be as before. She would be as before.
Hermione opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and continued walking across the narrow hall, trying to stop thinking about what was waiting for her at the end. Soon she saw a well-known door, and her heart skipped a beat. Hermione suddenly wanted to turn around and run away, but there was no way back. Her legs were wobbly. She approached the door, mumbled an opening charm, and entered the room . . .
"Hermione! Hermi-i-i-one! Wake up! You'll sleep through everything!"
Hermione shrugged. Somebody had removed her blanket and disturbed her dream with loud shouting.
Stop! Had it been a dream?
Hermione got out of her bed. Yes, it was only a dream. Hermione felt relief and, in the meantime, disappointment that she couldn't have seen the room she had been hurrying towards across the cold school hall.
"Wow! I really didn't expect to wake you up so quickly!" the redheaded troublemaker jumped into Hermione's bed. "Hope you're not angry at me!" Ginny said.
Hermione looked at her glumly. Not angry? It would be difficult to say so, considering the fact that she'd asked Ginny not to wake her up this way many times—but it would be useless to say anything. The youngest Weasley always did what she wanted.
Hermione looked around. This was her familiar small room, paneled with wood. The place was only big enough for a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. Nevertheless, the room was cozy and light. There were magical photos of the Weasley family on the walls. In one, tanned and happy, they extended their arms to her from Egypt. In another they were at King's Cross railway station, but Charlie, Bill, and Percy were already absent. In another, Ginny and the twins sat on the steps of their house and laughed at something until they all cried. Hermione's heart squeezed as she looked at Fred achingly. He was careless in that photo, not fearing the war that would soon claim his life, together with a small part of everyone who had known him.
Hermione tossed her head, trying to banish the anxious flashbacks that had made her cry at night for many years after it happened.
"What time is it now?" she asked Ginny. Her voice was husky.
Ginny broke into a broad smile and stroked back her long red hair, which looked like forks of flame. "It's six o'clock in the morning, my dear, and we have many great things to do!" Ginny replied cheerfully, jumping from the bed and leaving with a dancing gait. "Okay, get dressed, and I'm going to make tea for us."
Hermione opened her mouth indignantly, trying to say something, but she closed it instantly and silently. No, this was too much! Ginny woke her up frequently, but in the early morning on her single day off? Growing anger made her fists clench. At that very instant, the door banged, meaning Ginny had already vanished into thin air.
"Ginevra Molly Weasley!" Hermione said, raising her voice. "Come back immediately and tell me what the devil made you wake me up at this ungodly hour!"
The door opened cautiously, revealing a smiling face. "Please, Hermione, don't be mad at me! But . . . I have something essential I want to share with you. And remember, I'll hardly be able to tell you about it if you start using me as target practice for indefensible charms!" Ginny said before finally entering the room again.
Hermione stared at her. It seemed she had the heebie-jeebies and looked confused. Ginny's cheerful carelessness had disappeared completely. By all appearances, she was really nervous and had been trying to hide her real emotions under a mask of gladness from the very beginning. Something had taken over her.
"What happened, Ginny?" Hermione asked, anxiously looking her in the eyes. This behavior was very unusual for Ginny, tomboy that she was. What had made her so nervous?
"Well, I really don't know how to tell you. Essentially, it's not that unexpected." Ginny pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and sat next to Hermione, trying to avoid looking at her. "But anyway, I want you to be the first to know about it—and as soon as possible." She glanced at Hermione quickly after these words, stood up from the bed again, and approached the window.
Hermione was patiently watching Ginny, possibilities racing through her mind. Did the news relate to Ron somehow? Ginny often told her about the ridiculous situations Ron got himself into. Or did it have to do with Molly in some way? Mrs. Weasley hadn't been feeling well lately. What if something had happened? No, Ginny would be acting differently if that were the case. Suddenly, Hermione got one shadowy guess. What about—
Ginny took a deep breath, turned to Hermione, looked at her emphatically, and confirmed her last thought: "We're getting married, me and Harry!"
Hermione was awestruck. Everything had suddenly connected to form a complete picture. Of course! How could she have missed it? A whole range of feelings flickered across Hermione's face for a couple of seconds: understanding, amazement, shock, enlightenment, and, in the end, sincere gladness.
"Well, it's not that unusual. We planned to marry long ago, but—" Ginny didn't finish, because Hermione had embraced her.
"Oh, Merlin! I'm very happy! Ginny, it's wonderful!" Happy tears ran down Hermione's cheeks.
She had seen Harry and Ginny's love growing right from the start. She had seen how much both of them had had to suffer to be together, and she knew Ginny was waiting for the next stage of her and Harry's relationship wholeheartedly. Harry hadn't been in a hurry to propose, almost as if he didn't believe the war was over. Now there was nothing threatening his loved ones, and everything was okay. Harry had begun to change in the past year after dealing with his long melancholia.
Frankly speaking, Hermione had suspected that a proposal wouldn't be long in coming, and now Harry and Ginny would soon walk down the aisle. Hermione was so happy for her friends that her heart was tearing. It was as if she had been the one proposed to instead of Ginny! There was no point in pretending that, though. Hermione had once gotten such a proposal, in an indirect sort of way.
One day, Ron had asked her about their married future. He was blushing lingeringly and painfully, shifting from foot to foot, but he fired off in one breath, "I'd like us to get married, to have a big house and many children. Well, someday."
They had been seeing each other for about two years already by that time and were potentially ready to move into the next stage of their relationship, but Hermione was in doubt as to whether marriage, family, and children were necessary at that very moment. She worked at the Ministry of Magic almost twenty-four hours per day, so she hardly had time for anything else.
But it was clear that Hermione had latched on to Ron incredibly during their time in school, and the war had made them an integral part of one another's lives. She just wasn't sure if she really loved Ron and was ready for everything, even though his allegiance was proof that he really loved her. This question was one Hermione could never answer.
Undoubtedly, she was grateful to Ron for all the time they had spent together—except as the times he had acted like a blithering idiot. Sometimes, she thought what they had was true love, but the longer they dated, the more Hermione understood that her love was more sisterly than the kind that ended with "and they lived happily ever after." Nevertheless, she continued to go out with him, accept and give presents, kiss him tenderly, and embrace passionately at night. Everything was so . . . simple? Habitual? Right? The Weasleys had become her family, and almost no one doubted that Hermione would also be Weasley and become an official member of this pureblood dynasty in the future.
However, that day almost six months ago, Hermione had answered differently than Ron expected. She had been silent for a long time and, at last, began talking haltingly, saying they should think about it, it was too early, they weren't ready for such a serious step . . . Ron had looked totally unhappy and blushed more, and Hermione hadn't felt any better. She had understood well that she could lose him then and forever.
They had argued, but the conflict was resolved quickly. Ron and Hermione together had decided to cool down a bit and think about everything maturely. Both of them understood that they should take a timeout in their relationships and become friends only, but it was obvious that everything was in Hermione's hands. She could only hint that they would be together.
But six months had passed, and she'd decided nothing. It seemed that Hermione was more lost than ever in her feelings and wishes. It was intolerable to see the painful question in Ron's eyes, but it was even more intolerable because Hermione had been unable to find a way to answer it.
For the time being.
"Hey, Hermione! HERMIONE! You'll squish me!" Ginny joked, pushing her aside. Then she added anxiously, "Is there something wrong?"
Hermione merely shook her head and smiled sadly. There shouldn't be any sadness on this bright day in the life of her best friend, whom Ginny had become over the past three years.
"How can something be wrong when two of my closest friends are getting married?" Hermione asked, trying to distract herself from gray thoughts and hoping Ginny wouldn't ask about her swiftly passing sadness. "But now I'm interested in only one thing: when?"
"I don't know," Ginny said teasingly. "You see, Harry proposed to me half an hour ago."
"So early? Did he wake you up to propose?" Hermione was surprised by Harry's eccentricity.
"Well, we haven't been sleeping together lately, and . . . I guess you understand what I mean." Ginny gave her a wink.
Hermione blushed a bit. Of course, she had known about her friend's sex life for a long time and had asked her for advice occasionally. It was difficult for anybody to embarrass Ginny, but she herself could make anyone blush with her immodest stories. However, thanks to Ginny, Hermione was sufficiently informed on sexual issues. Ginny had given her detailed instructions with "tutorials" on how to behave the first night with a guy—even though that guy was her brother.
"Okay, I think I'll go to Harry. I promised him not to disturb you for more than five minutes," Ginny said, heading to the door. "Sorry again that I woke you up, but it was such a . . . You know, I couldn't have not shared it with you."
"Of course, I know! Thank you, Ginny, for telling me about your wedding first. I appreciate it," Hermione said sincerely.
Ginny in turn embraced her tightly, trying to put all her feelings into it, and disappeared out the door.
Hermione took a deep breath. Undoubtedly, she was very happy for her best friends, but why was there such a strange feeling of grief in her mind? Why did she, trying to imagine Ginny in a wedding dress, see herself there, lost and lonely?
The answer came to her quickly.
Her and Ron's potential wedding had been discussed just as much, but their hopes hadn't come true.
"Well, I'm sure you're wondering why we've gathered all of you here," Ginny said loudly.
Everybody stopped talking at once, and an ideal silence ensued in the room.
There were a lot of people in the Weasleys' small living room: a bemused Ron; a grinning George with Jane, his bride; Bill, embracing his beauty, Fleur; a pompous Percy (it was worth noting that his arrogance had diminished reasonably over the past four years); a stocky Charlie, who seemed not to have changed even a bit; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, looking warmly at their daughter (it seemed both of them already knew everything); an embarrassed and still awkward Neville Longbottom, with an imperturbable Luna Lovegood, wearing her radish earrings, which were able to change colors periodically; a huge Hagrid in his terrible ceremonial dress; and, finally, Hermione, looking at her friends and smiling cheerfully.
"Well, we won't test your patience anymore," Ginny continued. "I'm turning the floor over to Harry!" She smiled warmly at him, yet Harry himself looked stunned. "You should do this, Harry," Ginny said seriously so that only he could hear her.
Harry collected himself and glanced at his cherished people, who had been with him for all these years. It was amazing. He wasn't afraid of combat with the darkest wizard ever, he wasn't afraid of any dangers lying in wait, he wasn't afraid to die at any time, but now . . . it was as though Harry had been struck by a Confundus charm repeatedly. He should say something that was very important to him.
Harry glanced at his friends. Hermione smiled to him encouragingly, and then, when he shifted his gaze to Ron, he got embarrassed. He felt ashamed. He hadn't even had time to tell Ron, and he had failed to work up the courage to do this.
Finally, Harry cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and blurted out, "Me and Ginny, we've decided to get married. The wedding will be in autumn, in September, but we haven't chosen the exact date."
"And we'd like all of you to be with us on this happy day!" Ginny added, blushing slightly. "It's very important to us."
There was a stony silence for a few seconds. Following that, the living room burst into a dozen merry voices, and everybody rushed to congratulate the young couple.
Hermione leaned against a doorpost and observed the joyful bustle that prevailed in the living room. Harry and Ginny were overwhelmed by warm embraces from their friends and relatives. Only Hermione and Ron remained at their places. Ron? Hermione shifted her gaze to her friend, who was standing stone-still with a petrified face.
I expected this, Hermione thought as she approached him.
"Ron!" Hermione said, but he wasn't paying attention. He shrank a bit when her hand touched his shoulder. Hermione chose her words carefully. "Ron, they've been dating for a long time, so it's not such a surprise."
"Did you know?" Ron interrupted her, staring straight ahead.
Hermione was at a loss but collected herself instantly. "Well . . . I . . . don't think I was aware a long time ago, but—"
Ron interrupted her again. He clenched his fists, turned to her, and looked her straight in the eyes. "You knew," he stated.
It wasn't a question, and Hermione finally understood the reason for his displeasure.
"He didn't tell me either, Ron. Ginny told me early this morning when everyone was sleeping. I'm not sure whether Harry knew about that," she said, looking straight at him. "Moreover, I think you're being inappropriate. Look how happy they are!"
Hermione pointed to her friends. Mrs. Weasley was kissing Harry on both cheeks, and Hagrid was drying tears with a huge and dirty napkin, embracing Ginny with the other hand. Ginny saw Ron and Hermione looking at her, beamed to them, and made a face at her brother. Hermione waved to her friends and then looked at Ron cautiously. It seemed two conflicting emotions were struggling in his soul, because he was squaring his fists and shifting from one leg to another. Finally, he jerked up his head proudly and went to Harry and Ginny.
"Ron!" Hermione called, but he waved her aside and continued on his way. She bit her lip, praying Ron wouldn't do anything unnecessary.
Harry smiled guiltily at his friend. His round glasses were crooked, and his rebellious hair seemed to blow out even more. When there were only a few steps between the friends, Ron stopped short and looked at Harry with a bit of challenge, then turned to Ginny.
"By the way, I knew everything already. I knew he would propose to you."
"So how did you know?" Ginny teased her brother, having crossed her arms over her breasts.
"I found the ring when I was searching for my Quidditch gloves." Ron smiled apologetically. "Well, congratulations!" Ron embraced his sister roughly and then shook Harry's hand after some hesitation. "Keep her safe, mate!" he said, looking surely at his friend. "I don't know why, but she loves you more than all of us put together."
"I love her more than life," Harry replied seriously.
Ron nodded shortly, blinked, and stepped aside.
It was such a stirring moment. Hermione brushed a tear from the corner of her eye and approached her best friends. Silently, she held Ginny and then Harry tightly. She was sure they would understand everything without words, and she was convinced of it when Harry said "Thank you" quietly.
July 20, 2002
I remember the moment when I saw her for the first time. It happened somewhere in Italy, in one of those cities that were similar in appearance and different in name only. My father had been in jail for two years already by that time, and my mother was in the long doldrums, pacifying her endless loneliness with alcohol. As for me, I was trying to run away from my life, moving from city to city.
Letters from so-called friends, relatives, and those who needed something from me (skunks from the Ministry of Magic, as a rule) were pursuing me like hounds. The letters were similar to each other, the difference in wording only. Pansy Parkinson begged to come back to my mother's homeland and asked to "stop escaping from all this postwar bullshit". Lucius, on the other hand, affirmed that I myself was "a sneaky piece of shit, undeserving of the proud Malfoy surname". Fuck off, Lucius, even if you are always right! I'm spitting on this rightness. I'm spitting on all the blind drunk letters from my mother saying that I'm an ungrateful animal. I'm spitting on the Dark Lord and his war. I'm spitting on all the fucking life I have left in England.
So I don't remember how I arrived in Italy, but I remember why, and I also remember the moment I met her for the first time.
She had short fine black hair, a long fringe covering half her face. She was like a boy with her slick angularity. It seemed she was the only girl in that old ramshackle boozer, although she was certainly not. I mean all other girls faded in comparison with her, so unusual for Italy. She was sitting at the table with four suspicious men wearing shabby cloaks, speaking Italian loudly and gesticulating actively.
I approached the bar, trying to understand whether she was a local or not, and asked the old barman with sad eyes to give me a double portion of firewhiskey. I had a big swallow and continued to watch her. She had a shabby (but undoubtedly expensive) charcoal-gray cloak, skin too sallow for an Italian, an impudent short haircut, and big eyes rimmed by thick black liner. Everything about her was a challenge and something else . . .
The deep baritone of the barman mentioned somebody's name—Elissa Carrera—and it diverted me from my thoughts. When I turned back, I saw he was looking at me and, apparently, speaking to me. When I asked him what he was talking about, the old man explained wearily that the girl I was watching was Elissa Carrera. She had been coming here every Friday for about a year already and was always talking with someone. The barman also said that the girl's temper was far from sugary, so it was better not to approach to her, especially when she was talking with "those people".
I looked towards them and noticed that they were frowning, listening to her furious tirade. So the barman was right. I grimly thanked the old man for the information and turned to her again. Elissa Carrera. I pronounced her name like I wanted to taste it. She went silent at that very moment and looked at me. She was staring at me through slitted eyes as though testing my strength, and I was answering in kind. This wordless game finished with us both at one table in an hour and in one bed at a cheap hotel in two hours.
I didn't recognize where all that could lead, but I felt that my life would change totally from that very moment, and I was right at the time.
P. S. It's freaking strange, but it seems you're the only one I can tell all this trash about my life. Let you be just a diary.
D. M.
