A Witch Lost in Time
A/N: Just a small warning--there are spoilers from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince in this fic.
Hermione Granger smiled as she nursed her affection for books, her finger running along the spines, but her smile soon faded as she remembered the reason she'd come to the Golden Galleon, the new bookstore in Hogsmeade. Flipping through the book to its index, she searched for 'Elementoria,' and upon finding nothing, Hermione replaced the book on its shelf. Only a few people she'd talked to over the past few months had ever heard of the Elementoria, but she wasn't about to give up; she'd vowed to do whatever she could to help Harry in his quest for the other Horcruxes, and she was not one to break a vow.
"You're Hermione Granger, aren't you?" asked a small voice at Hermione's waist. She looked down to see a boy who looked strangely familiar, with his honey-colored curls and deep brown eyes. "I've heard of you. You're Harry Potter's girlfriend." Hermione laughed.
"Not his girlfriend, no," she replied, though she suspected the boy wouldn't believe her anyway. "What's your name?"
"Flavian," called a woman across the store. The boy grabbed Hermione's hand for a moment, looked up at her and flashed a toothy grin before running back to his mother. Hermione watched him for a moment, puzzled by his familiarity, then turned back to the bookshelves. She nearly cried out in joy in the next moment, for she spotted a book with the title blatantly obvious--Elementoria: A Study. She eagerly picked it up, felt a tingle in her fingers she accounted to excitement, and opened it up. Suddenly she found herself plunged into some kind of a place where events from Wizarding and Muggle history alike raced by with the speed of sound, a jerk behind her navel reminding her of what it was like to travel by Portkey. Was the book a Portkey? She couldn't see why it would be, but she didn't have time to think about it as a feeling of nausea assailed her. She shut her eyes tightly but as soon as she did she landed on a cold stone floor on her back, the breath knocked out of her and her eyes automatically flying back open.
She turned her head and caught sight of a chamber pot beneath a bed. She didn't even glance at her surroundings as she thought, "Accio pot," and ungracefully retched into it. Feeling better, she sat up and felt the gentle grip of a woman crouched beside her. Her eyes narrowed in puzzlement as she took in the woman's appearance. She appeared to be Remus Lupin's age, roughly forty, and wore a purple velvet dress with a gold cord decorated with stones of topaz braided in looped around her waist. Her hair was in many elaborate plaits twisted around her head.
"Milady?" asked another woman, and Hermione looked to her other side. This woman appeared about two years younger than Hermione, and wore a simpler dress of red velvet, a plain silver cord around her waist. Her hair was in a simple knot at the back of her head covered by a thin silver net. They both looked as though they had walked right out of a history book on the Middle Ages, and an alarmed Hermione looked down at her own self. She was in a white linen nightdress, embroidered with blue thread around the edges in the shapes of flowers and stars. Her hair was the same as it had been in the bookstore--long, brown, and with very unruly waves.
"She has had another vision, Silima," spoke the lady with the purple dress.
"Milady," said Silima, touching Hermione's shoulder and staring in her eyes. "To pass the test you set for yourself, I must ask you--what is your name?" Hermione stared at her for a moment, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as she racked her mind for a name that would be accurate. Then, as though somebody had whispered it in her ear, she replied.
"Lady Morgaine of Witchwood, daughter of the Lord Valkano of Witchwood." Silima and the other woman seemed satisfied with her answer, and both helped Hermione to her feet. Her vision swam in front of her and blacked for a moment, but she quickly regained sight and balance. She looked around the room, taking in the surroundings; there was a bed, a bureau, an open door that led to a wardrobe of many colorful dresses, and a large, golden-framed mirror standing in one corner. Hermione caught sight of her reflection, and cringed. Her hair had been tangled by her journey from 1999 to wherever she was now--she thought it unwise to ask--and her skin was deathly pale. Other than that, though, she looked quite like Hermione Jane Granger, born September 19, 1979.
"Come," said the lady whose name Hermione didn't know yet, "we must get you your bath and then to get dressed for the feast to meet Xanthus." She gave a smile, and Hermione uneasily smiled back, for the chamber pot was looking quite inviting again. She didn't ask who Xanthus was, for she had enough common sense to realize by the way the lady was smiling that this 'Xanthus' was apparently her fiancé. This just gets better by the minute, thought Hermione. As the women pulled her dress over her head and began to wash her with a cloth wet from the silver basin on the dresser, she searched her mind for any mention of Witchwood she might have read. Finally, she remembered that it was one of the first all-Wizarding towns to become integrated with Muggles, shortly after the founding of Hogwarts. She'd never read anything about Lord Valkano or his daughter Morgaine, but she knew that she was stuck in a time after the founding of Hogwarts--for Silima and the woman were caught in a conversation about the Muggles beginning their talk of their ruler's conversion.
"He is not even of the religion of Avalon," said the lady incredulously. "Why should they concern themselves with trying to convince him to convert to their faith?"
"They have not any better talk to amuse themselves with," replied Silima. "Valkano is a good leader to them--he has been victorious in all his battles with any invader, there is no reason to dislike him. I think they are just worried for his fate in the afterlife. I heard some of them talking of Morgaine's visions when I went in the market."
"Muggles can have visions too," Hermione blurted, and both the women nodded.
"Of course they can. I think they believe there is something better about yours, lady, for you are of a non-Christian, pureblood, Wizarding line. There has to be something mystical about you that will keep them talking." Hermione felt her brain go numb. Pureblood? I'm suddenly pureblooded?
After what seemed like hours of tugging on Hermione's hair and fooling with laces on her gown, the two women finally led her in front of the mirror, to which her back had been turned as they fixed her up. She wore a dress of apple-green silk, golden embroidery along the hem and neckline. Silima and the older lady had done Hermione's hair in two braids that twisted around her head, and she'd been given a circlet of gold with a sheer golden veil that would fit snugly beneath her chin when she lowered it, and an emerald dangling from the circlet against the middle of her brow to complete the look.
"He is very handsome," said Silima with a giggle. "And he is just a bit younger than you, by but a few months." Hermione didn't want to tell her nice maidservant that she didn't particularly care about Xanthus or this pureblood marriage, that she just wanted to get back to her time. She stayed silent as all three of them walked down many curving stairs to the great hall of the castle. As they entered, the chatter of forty knights, twenty members from Xanthus's family, and eighteen of Morgaine's, all fell silent, and three men stood at the head of the table. Two of them were blonde, and the other had greying brown hair, upon which sat a golden crown. My father--or rather, Morgaine's. Valkano.
"And this is the bride herself," said Valkano in a booming voice. Everybody rose and swept into bows before sitting back down. "Elaine, Silima, you may take your seats. I would like for my daughter to meet my near son-in-law without accompaniment." Hermione swallowed as all eyes were fixated on her, and she began to move forward. The younger blonde man moved forward, though Hermione couldn't see his features, for her eyes were focused on the far wall to avoid the gazes of everybody. When she reached him, she did not look at his face but immediately went into an elaborate curtsy she wasn't even aware she knew. This is a dream, it must be.
"There is no need to curtsy to one who is to be your husband," said a familiar voice, and Hermione wanted very much to die on the spot. Surely not, for that would make this a nightmare. Goddess, please don't let it be-- Hermione straightened, and looked hard into the grey eyes of Draco Malfoy, an icy smile on her face.
"Milord," she said in a voice laced with venom. Draco's expression was one of blatant confusion and anger.
"Milady," he replied, bending in a small bow that was hardly even enough to consider a bow. "For once, the rumours were true--you are lovely." His response was cool, well-rehearsed, and held no meaning. It didn't bother Hermione in the least.
"Your compliments do not go unnoticed, lord," she turned toward her father. "Might I inquire as to when we will feast?"
"In a while, daughter," replied Valkano. "While we wait, would you like to show Lord Xanthus the gardens? You can get to know each other better in person, for you have corresponded with owls for too long." The idea didn't thrill Hermione at all, but she just wanted to get somewhere she could be alone with him, and this provided the perfect opportunity.
"Of course, I would be honored. Come, lord," she said, grabbing his hand and marching him from the hall, ignoring the odd looks she got at her sudden shown anger. She had no clue as to where the gardens were, but an empty bedroom would do--anything.
"I think I have the right to ask what the hell are you--"
"Shut up!" she hissed, whirling angrily around to face him as he jerked his hand away from her. "We have to get somewhere private before we start yelling at each other."
"The gardens are this way," he sighed exasperatedly, and led her to a pair of double-doors and flung them open. Rows of neatly trimmed hedges and rosebushes met her eyes, but she found a stone bench immediately, heaved the doors shut behind them and walked to the bench, throwing herself onto it. He sat down at the opposite end of it, not very far at all from her. She had no idea how he'd known the gardens were where they were, but she could've cared less at the moment.
"Don't be so immature," she spat as he turned away from her. "If you don't know what we're doing back here or how we got sent back, and I suspect you don't, we have to learn to work together at least to figure out how to get back. It's what mature adults do, see." He turned to look at her.
"Not two adults fighting on opposite sides of the--"
"There is no war with Voldemort here," she snapped and he fell silent. "I'm not going to beg you to work with me, but if you decide to grow up during this whole deal, then you'll pretend that we can actually stand each other and are civilized human beings. Apparently the real Xanthus and Morgaine liked each other enough to regularly correspond, so we need to also. It sounds like the wedding is very close, and we'll need to hurry and find our way back before the ceremony."
"You've always given me good ideas, Granger, I'll give you that," said Draco after a pause. "I suppose I'll 'grow up' for the time being, anyway. Do you know where exactly Witchwood is?"
"Is that where we are now?" she asked, and he nodded. "It's a town about thirty minutes north of Hogwarts, and it was a purely Wizarding area until Hogwarts was founded. It seems word of my--or rather, Morgaine's--visions have reached the Muggles in the town, and they want our family to convert."
"I wonder if there are still Anti-Disapparation Jinxes on Hogwarts," he said. It angered Hermione that he even mentioned Hogwarts--the very place he would sneak Death Eaters into, even if it was little less than a millenia later.
"Probably," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "The three Founders remaining after Slytherin's departure would have prevented him from a surprise attack--really, he and any other attacker planning an invasion. Remember, we are in the Middle Ages. Speaking of, do you know what exact year we're in?" He scowled at the distaste in her voice at the mention of Salazar Slytherin.
"1249, according to Lucian--my 'father'." Hermione quickly did the mathematics in her head. She couldn't be trapped 750 years in the past and pass up a trip to Hogwarts in its early years--even if it meant Draco Malfoy was part of the deal.
"Okay. Do you know anything of my 'pureblood' line--" Draco smirked, "or at least of Valkano of Witchwood and his daughter, Morgaine?" She wondered if she'd been named for Morgana, or Morgaine, le Fay, for the legend of the sorceress, Arthur, Lancelot, and Guinivere had been around for a long time before Malory recorded the tales in the fifteenth century.
"Only that one of my ancestors--Xanthus--married Morgaine; that's just a few years after my family tree starts, so not very much is known about them." Hermione sighed, but before she could say anything more, Silima appeared.
"Lord Valkano sent me to tell you that the feast is ready."
"Thank you," Hermione smiled, and she rose in a rustle of skirts, following Silima back into the great hall with Draco on her heels. Everybody stood once again.
"Xanthus and Morgaine, the betrothed to who we will make a toast," boomed Valkano, raising his goblet. Everybody followed suit. "To the two jewels of the two most powerful, pureblood families of our world."
"To Xanthus and Morgaine," the hall echoed. Hermione looked out at all the beaming faces--most red with drunkenness from the Firewhisky--and sighed, keeping the smile on her face. How would she survive however long it took to figure out how to get back and successfully keep up the part of Morgaine of Witchwood?
A/N: Sorry for all these annoying little author's notes, but you know it's because I love you all! All I wanted to explain are the names, for I know there are two really weird ones. Firstly, 'Morgaine' (which isn't that odd, is it really?) comes from The Mists of Avalon, a great movie that I am definitely not recommending. Anywho, 'Flavian' is Greek for "blonde, yellow," according to Now for the weird ones. 'Silima' is from J.R.R. Tolkien's The Silmarillion; it is, according to the Appendix, "the name...that Fëanor gave to the substance from which they were made." So basically, Silima means "shine (with white or silver light)," which I thought was appropriate because of the cord and the net she wears. I'm weird, I know. And finally (this is like a novel in itself, isn't it?), 'Valkano' is also from The Silmarillion, but is a combination of two words I just stuck together. 'Val-' means "power" and 'káno' means "commander."
Okay...so I'll let you guys review now because I know you want to.
-P.W.
