Riddles.
Dear pimples, if you're going to live on my face, I need to see some rent.
- Irrelevant quotes brought to you by Heckyehbaconpancakes. I would have so much money.
Author's Note:
It's a Christmas miracle! Or just a festive wintery miracle if you don't celebrate Christmas. Do NOT expect a new year's miracle. Because it will not come.
Rating: T because of language. It's not too bad. It may change for later chapters.
Disclaimer: I'm not going to say this again - I don't own anything other than my plot line. The original plot line is by JK Rowling, so anything similar to that is hers. I thought of this version of Harry Potter by myself. So this story is mine, just not the universe it was created in.
Chapter II
Luna and Hermione were standing outside the looming oak doors of the Great Hall. Their belongings were to be taken to their new dorms after the feast and sorting ceremony (an ordeal that would drag on for an unmeasurable amount of time in Hermione's mind) - Hermione's, no doubt, going straight to the dungeons.
Luna had now memorised the entire first passage of her book and was whispering it under her breath to not draw too much attention to herself - practically hauling a book the size of a small elephant around the Hogwarts grounds on their first day was not, exactly, going to help the pair blend in for the time being. Unsurprisingly, Luna's plan wasn't as subtle as she'd intended to be: Hermione had taken to glaring at the general areas of snickering that were building to the overall hum of the room. Luna looked as if she were oblivious to the whole thing, although Hermione suspected that she just didn't care.
This was proven further when the infamous Draco Malfoy, flanked either side by his two cronies, - seeming much less intimidating to Hermione than they had hoped - strode towards the newfound friends, the rows of students parting for him like the Red Sea as to not fall upon his wrath. A wrath that could be reduced to a grain of sand when compared with Luna's. Stopping a few feet from Hermione, Draco plastered a smirk on his face upon looking at Luna - who seemed suddenly extremely invested in the confrontation hanging in the air. A small ring had formed around the group - a dozen or so ears (not so subtly) listened intently for the eruption that was anticipated by everyone within eyesight.
As the sea of people edged closer, Luna spoke to Hermione with a slightly louder voice than usual. "It's almost as if we're in Egypt. Although I do hope that this time around the sea comes crashing down just a tad sooner." Hermione seemed to be the only one to understand the reference, chuckling as Luna let out her own fit of giggles. A few more heads turned at the outburst that earned a snarl from Draco.
"I see you've made a new friend, mudblood. Loony Lovegood - were there no more rats left in the gutters for you to choose from?" A ripple of snickers flooded through the room followed by a smirk from the blonde.
Hermione just snickered. "I'm afraid you're going to have to do much better than that. It seems, Luna, that he does believe himself to be the new Moses. I suppose that would make us the Egyptians. With weapons and armor and a whole kingdom behind us. Although I think our morals have changed drastically since the first time."
Luna smiled her oh-so-innocent fairy smile and announced to all of the eagerly awaiting ears,"Oh, Draco dear, how's the back. I heard what happened on the train. How embarrassing. Defeated by a girl. A muggleborn, no less."
Draco's nostrils flared and his fists shook as he leant forwards to breathe heavily into Hermione's ear. "You'll pay for that mudblood. Watch your back." With a hiss, he once again melted into the crowd, Crabbe and Goyle following close behind. "Oh, I will, Draco dear." Hermione couldn't hold it any longer, a long string of giggles rippled through her, setting off the rest of the first years. Luna went back to her mumblings, a small smile playing on her lips as she did.
Let the butterfly effect begin.
A woman with slowly greying hair - who introduced herself as Professor McGonagall - led the first years through the Great Hall, their awed gasps and comments ceased by a booming voice that echoed through the high-ceilinged room. An old man with a long, coarse beard nearly trailing on the floor commanded silence with a single word.
"Welcome back to those of you who have returned this year, and to first years I welcome you, as your headmaster, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Oh, and please let me introduce your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirinus Quirrell. Many of you will already know him as your Muggle Studies professor, but this year he will take the Dark Arts position."
The man, who had now introduced himself as Professor Dumbledore, continued to ramble on, all words lost to Hermione after the announcement of the new DADA professor. A hissing noise sounded just behind Hermione's right ear. Then another behind her left. The sounds scratched at her brain, biting into her nerves. With a tremendous amount of concentration, Hermione forced the noise out of her mind. Her Occlumency had always been her strongest point -tied with Legilimency. But her Projection was even stronger. An art she believed she had created herself. The ability to project one's own thoughts and images into someone else.
Whipping her neck around in all directions to see the source of the invasion, she found her eyes focusing on the back of Professor Quirrell's head as he turned to talk nervously to the other members of staff. Every few seconds, she would feel a force pulling her eyes to focus back on him, unwilling to let her go.
A meaty shoulder bumped into her from behind, knocking her forward. She was pulled out of her odd trance as she regained her balance, the form of Gregory Goyle (shoving his way forward through the crowd as he made his way to the Sorting Hat) was in front of her. She must have zoned out for longer than she thought, and agreed in her mind to pay more attention to her surroundings.
Goyle sat down tentatively, almost hesitantly as the ragged hat was place firmly on his head. Within a moment the hat had made it's choice: a sly grin crossed Greg's face as the hat shouted 'Slytherin!'
"Hermione Granger." Dumbledore read from the feet of parchment, prompting Hermione to feign an expression of worry on her features, her legs shaking almost unnoticeably as she walked up the lavishly decorated aisle to the hat where it would all begin. Spinning around on her shaky legs, Hermione cautiously sat on the chair awaiting her fate. Dumbledore placed the hat on her head. It drooped slightly under its own weight, sagging into Hermione's barely tamed hair.
She could physically feel its mind rustling through her own, disregarding what it deemed to be useless information: how a tv worked, the recipe for chocolate brownies, the best season to pick blackberries.
It zoomed through every nook and cranny of her brain, stopping only to look at a box. A simple box with a metallic-looking snake winding around the wooden exterior. A box with no lock. A box that was impenetrable. Even to the most skilled legilimens. Which the Sorting Hat was. He paused momentarily, hoping to see any sign of weakness in its defense. There was none.
This thorough examination took less than a second in total. Hermione's fate was decided by a hat in less time than it takes lightning to strike six times. And that only takes a second. After seeing the rest of Hermione's flittering thoughts, the ancient hat knew that there really was only one option. "Slytherin!" Hermione just smirked and bounded down the steps to her new house when a round of claps welcomed her.
After a few more first years had been sorted, Luna's name was called from the parchment. She sat on the seat which had comforted so many others, her long hair settling behind her in subtle waves, as the Sorting Hat was placed gently on the top of her head. A look of confusion fell upon Luna's face, (a rare event) her emotions showing the battle the Sorting Hat was struggling with inside the depths of her mind.
After a brief pause that seemed too stretched out for Hermione, the Hat called out Luna's house. At first she seemed surprised, but a few moments after the shock wore off, Luna did just as Hermione had: she skipped down the steps and plonked down on the bench in a space to Hermione's left. Hermione, or course, was cheering her friend on for the duration of her journey, earning a few hisses to be quiet from amongst the crowd. She didn't listen, though. Who cared if cheering your friends on wasn't Slytherin enough? That's not what she believed, so why should she have to comply with their rules just because she was now apart of their community? (Kind of.) So she kept cheering as Luna approached.
Smirking from beside Hermione, Luna pointed at a fuming Malfoy - who now sat near Goyle a few metres away from the pair. He was mumbling about having to breathe the same air as 'a filthy piece of trash like that Granger girl'. "Oh no, wouldn't want poor Drakey to catch mudblood germs off a wretch like me. He might catch the sniffles." Hermione whispered to Luna, the sarcasm unmissable in her tone.
The giggles of the Slytherins in the immediate area were muffled by the return of Dumbledore's voice that bounced off the enchanted ceiling and rang through Hermione's ears. "Let the feast begin." Huge plates filled with food, empty ones in the spaces in front of students. Goblets filled with strange smelling liquid were scattered around, other ones filled with orange juice lined the edges of the Slytherin table. Hermione's mind wondered between the idea of glaring daggers at Malfoy through the feast and submerging herself in the food before her. She gave into the latter, although she maintained a civilised manner in which she was determined to uphold at least most of the time she was in public.
As she went to put down her drink and begin talking to Luna, she felt a pin prick the edges of her mind, surveying what was just beyond their reach. Masking her face into one of boredom, she expanded the reaches of her mind with a practised ease to engulf the intruder. She lit a fire at the borders, letting it spread to smoke them out - relishing in the fact that they wouldn't leave without knowing the pain she once experienced herself. Writhing in her brain, the unsuspecting mind left. It seemed as if the legilimens had already chosen a new mind to rifle through, judging by the Potter boy rub his forehead in pain from across the hall.
Hermione lay across one of the sofas dominating the Slytherin common room, Sense and Sensibility resting in her palms as she fought against the setting of the sun to read the last chapter of part two. The vast majority of Slytherins were wary of their new muggleborn, afraid (Hermione assumed) of what she would tell her muggle family and friends, and if they would cause the next witch trials, but on a much larger scale. After all, the first muggleborn in Slytherin house in, well, possibly history, was chosen to be there for a reason. This had perks, Hermione had realised in less than one hour of being in her new home. She could hog the sofa for the whole day with no more than a few glares and mild insults, no one willing to challenge her. For the time being.
Although, she did wonder whether or not that may have been because of the rivalry she was forming with Draco Malfoy, herself and Luna being the only ones being able to shut him up for at least a short while. Though Hermione was sure that no one would say that aloud, the possible fame and fortune offered by the Malfoys too promise-filled to squander.
These thoughts stayed with her up until the last of the light drained away from the sky, the moon rising out of sight from her view near the window. Stretching, Hermione decided it would be best to continue her research in the dorm, the only place she could avoid overhearing talk of Potter and Malfoy like the plague without seeming overly disgusted by both of them.
What she expected to see entering the dorm were a few trunks and maybe the bitch-witch skulking by her bed, day dreaming of her dear Drakey. What she did not expect to see was a hysterical Luna, throwing socks and pieces of paper around the room in a fit of rage, tearing through mounds of luggage. Rushing over to drag whatever was left of her friend at that point away from having a complete meltdown, Hermione shook Luna's shoulders and frantically tried to think of a reason as to why she would be on the verge of tears so shortly after their arrival.
"What is it? Luna? What happened?" Hermione asked, not willing to lose the first friend she had ever actually let herself care for. Luna immediately stopped shaking, her rhythmic rocking back and forth abruptly ceasing as she let out a humorless laugh and turned to face Hermione.
"They stole it. All of it. I saw them sneaking out. I just thought they were looking for Pansy or something. B-but, but then ... it's all gone. My clothes, shoes. Mum. My mum, she ... died, not too long ago. And they took all that I had of her. She's gone and I can't get her back. Just like what she left." She laughed again, this time with a watery smile, her eyes hardening afterwards. Again she laughed, a merciless laugh this time.
"Who stole it?" Pulling out her wand, Hermione stared straight into Luna's eyes, silently telling her she wouldn't be letting this go.
"Does that question need an answer? We both already know it."
The girls stood up, Luna whipping out her own wand as the pair entered the surprisingly full common room.
From the corner of the room, Malfoy snickered, sending fire through Hermione's veins as Pansy leaned on his shoulder. "Is everything okay? You seem a bit lost, Loony." He smirked in a patronizing tone, Hermione's eyes turning a fiery green hue to match the house colours spread throughout the dorm. She snapped. This was too far.
Hermione leaned forward, jabbing her wand into Draco's side, grinning when his face contorted and he winced in pain. Stepping forward so almost her whole body was pressed into his, she made her voice heard by the whole room: her next words making nearly all of the faces pale. "You took what was most precious to her. You took what was left of her dead mother's things. Don't think you won't pay for that. Don't think you won't get to feel all her mind-consuming pain tenfold. Because you'd be mistaken if you did." She lowered her voice so Malfoy alone could hear, "And count yourself lucky that there are so many people here. Because if there weren't, you'd be dead. Oh no, wait, that's Crabbe. You'd be begging for death." Hermione dragged her wand down his stomach, leaving a mark but not quite drawing blood. He winced and sunk to the floor as she pulled her body back, looking to Luna.
The fairy only smirked and approached Pansy who seemed to be the only one stupid enough to not take the warning seriously, everyone else shying away from the wand Luna was pointing dangerously close to the bitch-witch's face. "Where is it?" She whispered, her voice menacingly low.
"What? The bracelet, or the picture?" Pansy smirked, staring death in the face.
"With an attitude like that, I'm surprised you're not in Gryffindor. You're definitely stupid enough. Just tell me where my goddamn things are. I haven't got all day." Luna smirked, ending her sentence by holding the tip of her wand against Pansy's throat.
"You know, if you wanted your things back so desperately, you should have come back about an hour earlier. They'll have sunk to the bottom of the lake by now." Wheezing, Pansy laughed, not fazed at all by the death threat lingering over her head.
Luna jabbed the wand further into her flesh, not letting Pansy breathe for even one second. Hermione put a hand on Luna comfortingly as she stepped away and walked into the dorm, slamming the door behind her. Hermione followed closely behind, her eyes glowing before Pansy's laughed were cut off by a flood of water drenching her clothes, Hermione shouting over her shoulder, "Karma's a bitch," before leaving Draco to pass on her message. She left just before seeing the colour drain from Pansy's cheeks, the bitch-witch finally silenced.
The cool Autumn breeze drifted through the open window that lay opposite Hermione. She was biding her time, just as the air was. It was the calm before the storm, and the Slytherins would do well to accept it before they would all be washed away with the force of the waves soon to follow.
Easing a toe onto the creaking floorboards of the sleeping dorm, Hermione took her wand from the underside of her mattress and left the comfort of her bed to glide towards a portrait using the levitation spell that would be taught the next day, a spell which she had mastered as a small child, used to steal cookies when her parents weren't looking. Even as an infant, she had managed to perform it wandlessly and wordlessly.
She smirked as she remembered how.
The portrait was of a woman. More of a girl, really, judging by the small frame and features not too dissimilar from those of a child, but she held herself like a woman, with pride and an aura of power, even in the clutches and claws of her dreams. A descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Hermione reached a hesitant finger out to the sleeping figure's frame, and apparated to the place in which the figure was. The foyer of the home of someone evidently wealthy and not ashamed. For Hermione, a physical object related to the place she was apparating to helped with the queasiness, and her necklace was already there - the portrait would have to do.
A large crack sounded in the air - silenced quickly by a brief silencio on the room, ending quickly as she apparated away. They should probably check those wards. Almost anyone could escape. Or even worse, find a way in, Hermione thought, a snicker forming just as she realised her surroundings had changed. She hadn't set foot in this place yet. The smile died on her lips as she remembered why.
Composing herself, she looked slightly dizzily at her immediate surroundings - committing each detail to memory. Once smooth teal walls had decayed over time, age chipping away at the once flawless structure. Chipping away at the family that once was strong. Deceased branches snaked around the speckled marble banister, bearing flowers with the illusion of day-old freshness. Their dull white blended with the banister to create the perfect contrast to the calming hue of the walls. The calm before the storm.
As Hermione approached a lone flower, shunned away into a withering bud, she reached a slender finger out to touch it. A golden shine washed over the broad petals, and a new life was brought to its awaiting heart. It bloomed in a matter of seconds, growing more beautiful than any other. A small smile tugged at the corner of Hermione's lips, warming the cool air. She idly wondered if the flower's wait was anything to compare to her own.
Just as on the stairs, flowers decorated the dim chandelier swaying gracefully from the centre of the room. The slight twinkling of the crystals was the only sound coursing through the veins of the manor as Hermione tip-toed gracefully through the rooms, engraving each one into her memory, not disturbing the eerie atmosphere created by the untouched quality the home.
Lightly running the tips of her fingers across the tiny crevices and cracks of the walls leading up the cool stone stairs, Hermione looked upon two doors. Identical down to the rough scratches etched onto the last coat of paint, these were not just any two doors. They were the doors that showed the ghost of an image that could have once been. The doors of love and loss and life. The doors of the life Hermione could have had. Before the walls had cracked. Before the bonds of family were broken. Before her mother gave up her life to be with the one she loved. Before he betrayed her when she needed him most.
For Hermione knew what these doors meant. They were created, not by the family who once resided here, but by the house itself: it knew that they belonged.
Two identical rooms lied beyond those doors - everything in them exactly the same, just flipped as it would be in a mirror. Just like the people that belonged in those rooms. Hermione stepped through the one that was hers. She supposed she finally belonged. She supposed he never had. She supposed it was her job to make him belong. When no one else would.
A trunk lay at the foot of the four poster bed, the only thing in the room not coated with a thick layer of dust. Digging through layers of highly illegal books and spare sets of pyjamas, Hermione's fingers found a chain of cool metal and clutched it in her hand. Carefully tying the clasp behind her neck, Hermione settled the pendant at the end of the chain in the hollow between her collarbones. She made her way to the end wall, upon which hung a mirror. Staring thoughtfully into the cracked surface, Hermione watched as she lifted her wand to perform a simple concealment charm, the necklace vanishing into nothing before her eyes, the only evidence left behind being the weight of it Hermione still felt pressing into her. It would require no additional charms to make it stay concealed, and no revealing charm would restore it, unless it came from her own wand. The perfect disguise: a simple charm, slightly modified and executed properly could get you anywhere.
It seemed unfair to fix the mirror, when all the things around her were still broken. So she left it. To splinter even more in the cold of the night.
Walking over to the bed, Hermione pointed her wand to the ceiling, both rust-covered windows snapping open at the deft flick of her wrist. A gust of wind flooded through the room, throwing what little personal items she had into the far wall, smashing the thin plaster. The dust was lifted cleanly off the surfaces, whisked away with the wind as it formed a ball and thrashed around the room before being flung through the windows, circling the gardens until finally disappearing with a pop, a rather anti-climatic ending in Hermione's opinion.
Shivering, she glided to the window, pulling down the frame until it slid into place with a thump and a gust of dust shooting into her face. Coughing, she flicked her wand down to close the other one, floating over to her bed as to not reduce her toes to icicles by touching the frozen floor beneath her. Lying down under the duvet, Hermione slid her wand between the mattress and the bed frame. She closed her eyes, filling her head with pictures to pull her thoughts from the threateningly ominous void that was so close to sinking its teeth into her mind. She was never going back to that place. She couldn't. But her mind could take her there without her consent in the dull throb of sleep.
So that's how she woke. Not in the light. Not in the warm. But in the darkness. In the land of ghosts and demons of her imagining. She would wake up thrashing, scared of tearing her limbs apart in her state of pure terror. That's how she would wake for the days, weeks, even years of the future. That's how she woke in the days of the past. All 23,711 of them. Most not actually waking at all.
Author's Note
Okay, so I may have lied about it being a miracle, but it's definitely mysterious. And magical. And probably some other adjectives beginning with the letter 'm'. But I would like to say thank you to everyone who has even seen this for being nice and even sparing a glance at my shitty little book. Because it makes my day. So thank you. And have a merry winter!
And yes, I love Adventure Time, so Heckyehbaconpancakes. Xx
P.S. Yeah, I haven't written the next chapter but I'm trying to get back into the swing of things so ... that may take longer than it sounds.
Edited: 27/02/16
