A/N: I blame… insomnia
Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard
Blink of the Gods
Chapter 2
Power does not corrupt. Fear corrupts…
perhaps the fear of a loss of power.
- John Steinbeck
END OF THE SECOND WIZARDING WAR!
Heroes Harry James Potter and Ronald Bilius Weasley Defeat Thomas Marvolo Riddle, the Self-Styled Lord Voldemort!
Muggleborn Hermione Granger Arrested, Charged as a Dark Witch and Traitor to the Light! Heroes and Former Best Friends State: "She's a Danger to the Public!" and "She's Sodding Mental!"
Acting Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt Resigns, States: "Hermione Granger is Innocent but the Ministry is Corrupt as Ever!"
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall Asked to Resign After Public Support of Hermione Granger's Innocence
Record Amount of Failing Students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Under Headmaster Horace Slughorn!
Multiple Professors Resign in Support of Former Headmistress Minerva McGonagall!
Graduates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Consistently Fail N.E.W.T.s and Basic Hiring Requirements
Harry Potter Revamps Auror Hiring Requirements to Buff Up Numbers After War
Marriage of War Hero Harry Potter to Ginevra Weasley
Traitor Hermione Granger Sentenced to Life In Azkaban, Convicted of Colluding With Dumbledore's Murderer, Notorious Missing Death Eater Severus Snape!
Strange Misfortunes Strike Weasley-Potter Family. Matron Molly Prewett Weasley Accuses Granger of Vengeful Curses
Memory Vials from the Late Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Discovered, Reveal Shocking Buried Truths: Dumbledore Ordered Severus Snape to Kill Him Because He Was Dying From Agonising Dark Curse!
Ginevra Weasley Potter Caught Sleeping with Entire Tutshill Tornadoes Quidditch Team in a Intoxicated Potion-Induced Haze! Brother Ronald Makes Money Selling Scandalous Photographs!
Molly Weasley Storms into Azkaban Prison to Accuse Prisoner Hermione Granger of Dark Curses Against Her Family, Only Finds Empty Cell! Prison Staff Confesses, "We Just Left Her to Rot!"
Hundreds of Eager Bounty Hunters Search for Wanted Fugitive Hermione Jean Granger, Lured by Million Galleon Reward!
Whirrrrrrruuungh!
Dr Strange stepped out of the gate and into the room as his cape fluttered over to tackle Hermione with a hug.
"Oh, hello, my friend," Hermione chortled as she flopped on the floor where she had been thrown.
"I swear the Cloak of Levitation loves you more than it does me," Steven said, running his hand through his hair.
Hermione smiled. "He's just very friendly when you respect his magic," she replied with a grin as the cloak wrapped around her and levitated her over to the nearby futon on the floor. And what brings you to my most desolate frozen abode, Master?"
Strange huffed. "Steven, Hermione. You reached adept and earned that right long ago."
Hermione tilted her head. "The young seem all too eager to cast aside their respects. Perhaps I just wish to make up for them."
Steven grunted. "You cannot make up for an entire generation of internet-addicted, Google-it, instant-gratification-ers, Hermione. Nor can you make up for the— what did you call it? — Oh, 'the magically entitled wand-waving dunderheads'."
Hermione's lips twitched in a half smile.
"How is Severus?" Steven asked.
"Enjoying calm beaches and tropical weather, far from the lands of Britain," Hermione said. "He Portkeys in from time to time to remind me to feed myself and insult my Potions skill."
Steven snorted. "He cares for you very much despite his rancor."
"Ah, I know, but he never outgrew that habit to insult first and regret later."
"Why do you practice such archaic potions work when you can just conjure it?" Steven asked, curious.
"Severus has a Potions business. Mail order and custom work," Hermione said. "I do the more— 'sweet smelling slop' that he can't be bothered to tweak some of his other potions. 'The potion should work. Who the fuck cares if it tastes like dirt and smells like a donkey's arse?'." Hermione grinned.
Steven choked and waved his hand, summoning a tea service. "That man has all the tact of a drunken pachyderm."
"He did his job," Hermione said. "I'm just glad he survived the war after all that trying to die on me."
"Saving him is what ended with me breaking you out of that dismal prison," Steven said. "Should I thank him or put duct tape over his mouth?"
"Neither, he hates thank yous," Hermione laughed. "He hates Muggle duct-tape even more." She poured the tea and sat down in the chair, laughing as the Cloak of Levitation pulled out the chair for her. She pet the cloak fondly and summoned two meat pies from the hearth.
MrrrrRRrrrRRrrrl!
Thump.
A huge feline head stuck in through the door, and a great cat pushed his way in, dropping a very dead elephant seal on the floor. After dropping the parcel, he shrunk down to a much more manageable size, changing colour to appear like a very familiar-looking orange half-Kneazle.
"That," Strange said slowly, shaking his head. "That never fails to amaze me. A giant polar ice cat from another dimension simply turns up and adopts you by pretending to be a disturbingly intelligent almost-cat?"
"Half-Kneazle," Hermione said. "He seems happy enough with it. He always hated Ron with a passion. I guess I should have listened to him."
Crooks ate the tidbits from the meat pasty off Hermione's fingers, cleaning her fingers with his raspy tongue and then curling up in the middle of the table, seemingly guarding the shortbread biscuits.
"I can't believe you didn't realise he was a giant saber-toothed monstrous beast," Strange said.
"Half-Kneazles are really intelligent magical creatures. I was a Muggleborn witch who only knew things I got from books or experience, and trust me when I say my experience did not include extra-dimensional shape-shifting felines the size of a cargo barge." Hermione huffed, taking a bite of her pasty.
"The entire Muggle, Muggleborn, pureblood everything is just too confusing for me, Hermione," Steven said. "Give me extra-dimensional invaders and demonic interlopers any day."
"Please, not at the dinner table, Master," Hermione pleaded, chuckling.
"Steven," he corrected.
Hermione smiled. "Steven." She looked up, brows wrinkling. "It amazes me there is so much more magic out there than what I grew up believing in. There was a time when wandless magic seemed like a mere myth."
Steven shrugged. "There are times and places for wands, I suppose," he said. "I even have one for more delicate work in the areas I do not tinker with as often, but I am not— how did you say it— 'surgically attached to mine as are your wizard and witches'."
Hermione snorted. "No, you have a Cloak of Levitation instead," she said.
Strange sighed. "True. When it isn't trying to impress you and open doors and pull out chairs for you."
Hermione grinned. "I happen to like it."
Strange harrumphed, eating his own pasty. "How do you manage to make arctic meats taste like you slaved away in a kitchen for days?"
Hermione shrugged. "I just— it just happens, I guess. Crooks brings them, and I cook them. He did bring me that 'small' whale that I'm still carving pieces off of. Thankfully, being in a such cold place as this, the larder doesn't spoil even without magic. Oh, Minerva left you some books to read. She knows you like to know more about the Wizarding World." She gestured to the bundle of books on a shelf.
"That woman," Steven said. "If I'd had her as a mother, I'd never have gotten away with anything."
"She's a cat," Hermione said, shrugging. "Felines have ways."
"You are a giant flaming bird that spontsneously combusts," Steven pointed out. "What does that make you?"
"Warm," Hermione answered with a cheeky grin.
Steven rolled his eyes. "Of all the desolate places on Earth to create a personal Sanctum, you choose here? The sub-ultimate zero 'damn-it-all-if-it-doesn't-freeze-you-first' zone?"
"Bounty hunters don't last long out here," Hermione said. "Warming charms do nothing for them, even if they knew to come here, which none do. Who, they think, could possibly live here?"
Strange shrugged. "You are right, of course. Yet this place— well, you have attracted quite a strange menagerie of wildlife here. I am fairly certain that the seals and other such animals did not live here before." He eyed the clutter of fluffy looking, blue spiders that were skittering around the bookshelves.
"Animals find me," Hermione said with a shrug. "Ever since I started learning sorcery, it was like they just followed me home."
"From gods only know where," Strange said, boggling. "I'm still looking up most of them in the archives. Unfortunately, there are a lot of places out there with dangerous-looking wildlife."
"They are hardly dangerous," Hermione scoffed.
"Have you looked at that beast out there when he grows full-sized?" Strange asked, pointing a finger at Crooks. Crooks just yawned toothily at him.
"Crooks wouldn't ever hurt me," Hermione assured him.
"It's not you I'm worried about," Strange said, laughing. "It's the poor idiot who tries to sneak in and take out that bounty of a million sailing ships."
"Galleons are coins."
"They are also sailing ships," Steven pressed.
"I suppose, but sailing ships are harder to port around in your pocket." Hermione winked at him.
"Every apprentice I send to you comes back traumatised that I've sent them to learn from an arctic hermit that talks to animals like they are people."
"They learn their magic, do they not?" Hermione asked, smiling.
"Traumatised," Strange repeated.
"But magically learned," Hermione said with a small smile.
Steven laughed. "You have been and probably always will be my best student. I wish— the Ancient One would have loved you. Hell, my Cloak of Levitation loves you."
Hermione grinned. "I'm quite fond of your cloak. He's quite charming."
The cloak did a happy spin and brushed up against her like a cat.
Steven sighed. He waved his hand to clean off the table and set the dishes off to the shelves. He opened up a hole in the air and pulled out a chocolate cake, setting it down. "As fruitless as this may be, can I convince you not to go to your parents' place alone?"
Hermione, eyeing the cake fondly. "Does the cake disappear if I say I can't risk the Wizarding world to one, knowing sorcerers exist, two knowing Severus still breathes, three knowing giant saber-toothed cats come dressed as half-Kneazles?"
Strange sighed sadly. "I would gladly wear Duggle clothes if it would help."
Hermione snorted. "Muggle, and no, when my well dressed, impeccably immaculate friend summons a magic circle out of thin air and slings us into an interdimensional portal there will be repercussions no matter how inept the idiot that comes to take me on is."
"You are the one who always reminds me that I should not treat myself as a single candle in the darkness," he said kindly.
Hermione inhaled deeply and shook her head. "You know this is different. My parents look forward to seeing me this one time a year."
Strange nodded. "I know. Still, I worry about you. It's bad enough that we only get to see you when something cataclysmic is attempting to break through the barriers between worlds. I never wished you to feel even more isolated than before."
Hermione shook her head. "I am peaceful here, Steven. I've lived with a gaping hole in my soul for as long as I can remember. Here— I feel almost like I can remember why."
"We can't expose the Wizarding World to even more mind-shattering discoveries so soon after that last war," Hermione said. "It's not their fault they live trapped in time, clinging to old, erroneous, prejudiced ideals."
"They abandoned you. Imprisoned you. I'm surprised that you would defend them," Steven observed.
Hermione gave him a tight-lipped smile. "A few especially horrible individuals does not make a recipe for genocide. I would end up becoming that Dark Lady they accuse me of being, as great and powerful as their very worst nightmares. I used to think Tom Riddle was the most dangerous being in the world— and then you went and introduced me to Mordo possessed by Dormammu."
"I did NOT introduce you!" Steven protested. "He fell into the Sanctum due to a dimensional warp fus—"
Hermione eyed Strange, eyebrow arched. "On my first day out from under your supposed wing of safety."
He slumped. "Okay, so that was my fault." He looked at her. "To be fair, you handed him his face and introduced it to his ass."
Hermione snorted. "He was being an arse, he deserved to greet it."
"You realise just how odd that was, watching my not-apprentice of three hours mopping the floor with Mordo's unconscious body in front of those new trainees, trying to keep a straight face and avoid cackling like a loon? I was a terrible student. You made my training look like a bombing mission gone awry."
Hermione shrugged. "I already knew magic existed. You didn't." She smiled. "Not everyone can be like my parents and easily accept such things."
Steven touched her hand. "Please be careful."
"You know I will, Master," she said kindly.
He nodded, cutting the cake. "Do you want the small slice or the rest of the cake?"
Hermione grinned. "We can split it 50/50."
Strange smiled in return. "You're on."
Loki scowled in annoyance as Sigyn attempted, yet again, to tempt his interest. She flushed and curtsied, batted her lashes ever so alluringly, and even tried to catch his eyes with hers. Loki, uninterested and frankly disgusted, curled his lip in disdain and continued on his walk.
Ever since his brother and his bosom buddies had been cast out of Ásgarðr, many had looked to him to bed them, hoping beyond all hope that he would find them interesting enough to tie him to her. It disgusted him. Rumours floated around the real reason his brother had been cast out to learn humility, but Loki didn't really question it. His brother had always been war hungry and attention starved. Nothing was good enough, great enough, or fantastic enough to bring him "honour." As for the Warriors Three and Sif, those four followed Thor around like a pack of eager dogs on the scent of prey. He did have to admit, things in Ásgarðr were more peaceful with his brother away.
"It's no use, my Lady," Sigyn's ladies-in-waiting whispered. "His eyes no longer wander."
Sigyn made a pouting noise, thinking Loki was now out of earshot. "Gudrun was nothing but a lowly trilobyte," she hissed. "She's dead and gone, and he should focus on what is alive and right in front of him."
"My Lady!"
"You know it's true! If such a marriage had indeed occurred, nothing would have stopped it. I would remain at his side forever, but he was ensorcelled to think—"
"My Lady—"
"A lowborn, good-for-nothing—"
"My Lady—"
"Jötunn sympathiser was—"
Loki was suddenly right up in Sigyn's face, his eyes narrowed and his nose so very close to hers. "Who were you talking about?"
Sigyn's eyes went wide in panic. "N-no one worth mentioning, my Prince."
My Prince.
A lovely young woman, warmth in her golden eyes as she looked up to him, drawing his hand to her soft cheek.
Loki. Please, call me Loki.
The woman, now dressed not as an Asgardian but in some sort of soft white fur and and pearls hugged the muzzle of a giant frost sabre, scratching under his chin and behind his ears as she lay over the bridge of his nose. The gargantuan feline purred and whuffed, pegging her a few times with its rough tongue.
The scene shifted.
He breathed against her temple, his lips ghosting across her skin. "Will you trust me? Will you have me?"
The woman closed her eyes. "Yes."
The scene shifted once more.
"Gudrun," he whispered.
"Loki," she answered, her hand caressing his cheek.
"Can you truly love me, despite everything I am?"
Gudrun smiled at him, shaking her head. "Loki, my Prince, I love you because of what you aren't." She grinned at him. "Your brother, for example."
"But, I am Jötunn," he whispered.
"Loki," Gudrun admonished gently. "You are Jötunn. You are also a prince of Ásgarðr. You can be living proof to two peoples that coexistence is possible, that Jötunn are neither barbarians or idiots. Don't you see? You are not less. You are more."
"But, you will be with me? At my side?" he asked, a faint trace of doubt and uncertainty lingering in his voice.
"Loki," she said, drawing his head close so she could tenderly kiss his forehead. "You worry about things you need not worry about. I would never leave you. Whether you walk the frozen wastes or no, I will be here—" She placed her hand over his heart. "With you."
Loki pressed his head to hers. "You are more than I deserve."
"You deserve a good swat for your tricks and your words, sometimes," she said, but when his head jolted up, she touched his lips with her thumb. "But you deserve to be happy. If not me, with someone who can make you so."
Loki crushed her to him, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "It is you and only you. There can be no other for me. My very heart breaks at the very thought of your absence."
"Tis the fever, my Prince," she said tenderly. "It will be less— maddening— once the bond is sealed." Her face sombred. "Provided that is what you wish."
Loki made a strange face, confused. "Why would I not?"
Gudrun closed her eyes. "To seal the bond requires—" She looked down.
"Gudrun," he used his fingers to hold up her chin.
"A child," she said quietly.
Loki's eyes widened. He pressed his forehead to hers. "You think I would not wish for a child between us?"
Gudrun looked down. "Do you really think All-Father and Lady Frigga would wish to come to a clandestine wedding in the ice and snow of Jötunheimr to bless the union of their beloved son to someone as low in status as I?"
"Your supposed status means nothing to me," Loki said, his eyebrows crinkling. "Should it not be my choice whom I love, who I want at my side for life? If they cannot bless our union, then I will live my life here in Jötunheimr with you. You are what matters to me."
Gudrun looked upon him with wonder as he sealed his vow with a kiss.
The scene shifted again.
The throes of the dying whale smashed the ice.
Screams.
Gudrun's hand was in his and they ran together on the ice to avoid the tail. He looked up to see the Warriors Three leaping off the back of the dying whale, and they pounced on him, dragging him away from Gudrun.
Gudrun cried out as the ice below her broke from their impact, and she was taken into the frozen sea.
"Gudrun!" he tried to run towards her, but Fandral held him fast with an arm lock.
"No, Loki!" they chimed together. "You've been ensorcelled!"
Ensorcelled? No!
He began to see red— his mate was in trouble. She needed him! He could feel the bond between them screaming as Gudrun's panic and fear surged until it was the only thing he could sense.
"Sorry," Sif's voiced said just before everything went black.
Loki's eyes darkened as his hand clenched around Sigyn's collar and absolute fury radiated off him. "You forget your place, Lady Sigyn," he seethed into her face, heat dripping from his body. "You insult my lady wife and the dead in one breath, then you insult me by questioning my choice in mate."
He clenched his fist, causing Sigyn to whimper in terror.
"Get out of my sight, and if I even see you in my vision again, I will see you stripped of your rank and sent to scrub the dragon stalls until it stops being amusing." He glowered. "And I can be amused for a very, very long time."
He dropped her collar and narrowed his eyes. "And if you treat your ladies-in-waiting with anything less than respect for tolerating your drivel, I will see them swiftly reassigned to someone far more appreciative."
Loki spun, storming down the hall in a blur of black and gold, his emerald cape streaming behind him like a flag.
"My brother did this?" Loki asked, his voice but a bare whisper.
Frigga frowned, hugging her son tightly. "All-Father punished him and his assistants for your injury, my son, sending them down to Miðgarðr for their atonement, however many years or lives that might take."
Loki rubbed his temples. "Mother, why did I not remember? Why did I not know?"
"The broken bond almost killed you, my son," Frigga said. "The healers had to repair parts of your brain after Lady Sif knocked you unconscious. She had struck you multiple times due to your sheer determination to get to Lady Gudrun's side. To save your life, All-Father had Muninn block off your memories until your mind had healed enough to remember them and forbid the court to speak of the incident until you were ready. We all feared you would not recover otherwise."
Loki hugged his mother tight. "I thought you kept it from me because I was Jötunn."
Frigga touched his cheek. "Oh, my son. That was never a reason. We feared for your very life. Your sanity. A broken bond— I believe the only thing that saved you was that you had not—" Frigga's face was tortured.
"She was not with child, yet," Loki said, closing his eyes.
"Yes."
Loki took in a ragged breath. "And what of my stupid brother, whom I wish to wring the life out of with my bare hands?"
"Still on Miðgarðr, my son," Frigga said. "Atoning."
"It is odd, for the last few hundred years, I knew he was there atoning for some sin, yet, for the life of me, I could not begin to fathom what would have caused All-Father to banish him from Ásgarðr. All these years, I thought he had simply tried to bring war to Ásgarðr, never thinking that he had actually done that and more. I thought all of father's grief was for him, his most favoured son."
Frigga hugged Loki tight. "Loki, my son, we were at your wedding in Jötunheimr. We grieve for Thor's transgressions, yes, but we also grieved for what you lost, for you are our son too."
Loki's eyes glowed crimson even as he held his mother. "I still want to wring the life out of him with my bare hands." The flash of his runes glimmered over his skin.
Frigga touched his temple and brushed his black hair from his face. "My son, we all are lesser for the loss of Lady Gudrun, but perhaps your drive can be focused elsewhere."
Loki narrowed his eyes. "What could possibly be more satisfying than throttling my traitorous brother?"
Frigga smiled serenely. "Gudrun was our Goddess of Empathy and Rebirth, my darling. She was a phoenix rising at the time of her death, coming into her full glory."
Loki frowned in confusion.
Frigga tapped Loki in the middle of the forehead. "My son, have you forgotten the cycle of the phoenix? They do not die."
Loki's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "They are reborn…"
Frigga smiled. "Now put your mind to work instead of your fists. Such things were never good on you."
Loki drew his mother close suddenly, planting a kiss on her forehead. "I love you, mother!" he said, spinning and running out of the garden and away.
Odin came up behind Frigga and drew her into a hug. "He remembers?"
Frigga patted Odin's hand. "Let us just hope that he finds Gudrun before he finds our other son."
Odin fervently rubbed the space between his eyes. "We can only hope." He looked Frigga in the eyes. "You are sure she was a phoenix? A true one?"
Frigga pulled a locket out from her gown and opened it, exposing a runic frost pearl around the shaft of a fiery feather. "I'm quite sure, husband."
As Hermione stepped out of the portal, her feet touched the soft grass of her parent's secluded back garden. She waved the portal closed, tucking the sling ring into a thrice-hidden pouch in her robes that went into a pocket dimension. She chuckled at just how much she could carry after having been trained as a sorceress, more so at how much she could do without a wand— something most wizards and witches could only do with great effort or practice. Severus, she knew, was highly capable of such things, but it still relied on the standard matrices of spells involving word crafting.
She shook her head. Best to leave such things well alone.
The Wizarding World functioned in their own bubble, just as the Muggles did, the Mundanes, the mortals, immortals, aliens, and demons. Being Dr Strange's apprentice had taught her much, more so than many years at Hogwarts, but Hogwarts had given her a base to open her mind to possibilities— and the subsequent breaking of her mind to untrustworthy once-best friends had done the rest in forcing her to see that things were not as she thought.
Crookshanks had then turned into a giant frost sabre who had "portaled into Dr Strange's office and 'convinced' him to rescue her from Azkaban". The rest was… well, she did have a one million galleon bounty on her head.
Hermione tapped on the glass of the sliding door. Her parents didn't know of their daughter's sordid past, but they suspected there was something going on beyond their knowledge. Good parents usually did.
Severus had been the one to deliver most messages to and from her parents, all through a complex enchanted mailbox that routed, rerouted, then dropped through a magical vortex into Muggle circulation, and then slipped into a magical mailbox that then routed back to him at his quiet island home on Vieques, just off the coast of Puerto Rico.
Severus, of course, could come and go from her Sanctum as he pleased, being one of the few short of Steven that could do so. Sometimes he stayed there for a while, needing an escape from "dunderheads" in "the one place no one in their right mind would ever go voluntarily."
Hermione had asked what that made him or her.
Severus had arched a brow and succinctly replied, "Imbeciles."
He'd always had a stunning command of directness and tact.
Her parents answered the door with open smiles.
"You came!" her mother gushed, pulling her daughter into a hug.
"Of course, mum," Hermione said, smiling. She handed them a parcel wrapped in delicate paper and a spider silk ribbon, carefully woven by her clutter of happy-to-please polar arachnids.
"Ohhh, Hermione, is this what I think it is?" her mother cooed.
Mr Granger chuckled, giving Hermione a wink.
The silk ribbon and the paper went flying as her mother ripped into the box with all the tact of a hungry alligator. The box unfolded magically into an even bigger box as a cold charm preserved the contents. Inside, glimmering apples, pears, grapes, and plums shared space with blue-tinged oranges and aquamarine persimmons.
Her mother squealed and hugged Hermione tightly. "How did you know?"
Hermione eyed her father, and he looked up to examine his crooked halo. "Lucky guess, mum," she said.
Hermione pulled out a cylinder and handed it to her father. "Happy anniversary, dad."
Her father beamed, taking it, getting a twinkle in his blue eyes. He unwrapped it, pulling out an ornate crystalline wine bottle filled with a shimmering blue liquid. "Hermione! Is this that ice wine we've heard so much about?"
"Just three drops into distilled water," Hermione cautioned her parents. "No more. There is enough there to last you all year."
He kissed her forehead. "You are wonderful, Hermione. Come on in and eat. Your mother has made— well, everything."
"I did not!"
"Mostly everything."
Mrs Granger glared at her husband, but there was no true heat to it. They both laughed.
"Well, none of this for you for another six months, love," Mr Granger said, grinning at his wife.
Hermione's eyes widened. "Mum?"
Mrs Granger blushed. "Your father and I had a splendid vacation in Australia and—"
Hermione chuckled as her mother tried to be tactful and failed utterly. "Mum, dad, it's okay. It really is. I'm very happy for you."
"Come, come, sit, eat," Mrs Granger said, gesturing to them both. "Why didn't you bring that charming doctor with you?"
Hermione flushed. "Mum, he's not my boyfriend."
"We're not getting any younger, Hermione. Surely, someone piques your interest? A nice man?"
Hermione rubbed the space between her eyes. "Can we please not talk about my lack of a love life?"
Mr Granger saved the evening by bringing over the dishes of garlic and chilli prawns with mango rice salad.
"I was really craving sweet and spicy," Mrs Granger confessed.
Hermione smiled. "You did that with me too, mum."
Her mother grinned. "You're right! I wonder if we'll have another wizard or witch in the house?" Her parents looked quite delighted at the prospect.
Hermione smiled, trying not to let the concern seep into her eyes. "Maybe. Who knows? But… you always wanted me to go to a French school, remember? If you retire to that villa you always wanted in the south of France, the lucky boy or girl could go to Beauxbatons."
"Ooo, I love the French," Mrs Granger cooed. "Wouldn't that be wonderful, Gil?"
"Well, we did pay for the place, Jean," Mr Granger agreed. "We should at least give it a good shake instead of just planning to but never actually going."
"I think you'll love it," Hermione said. "Especially since you'll be close to the lavender field that you love so much."
Mrs Granger beamed. "Oh, Gil, we must go. Maybe we'll like it so much we can move there full-time and just relax." She rubbed her slightly distended belly. "Well, as much as we can."
"You know there will always be a place for you, Hermione," her father said, patting her arm. "And any nice man you might find and drag home for the holidays, hrm?"
"Daddy!" Hermione huffed.
"It should be that nice doctor friend of yours," Mrs Granger reminded.
Hermione groaned. Something wiggled out of her robe pocket, looking around. A bright eyed, perky-looking arachnid looked this way and that.
"Oh my! Who is that?" Gilbert asked.
Hermione looked down. "You sneaky little stowaway," she chided. "This is Ozymandias. Oz is a weaver spider. He wove that silk ribbon for your present."
Mrs Granger, startled at first, looked closer. "Does he bite?"
"Not unless you try to squish him. They're really quite helpful. I have a clutter at home that likes to keep my bookshelves tidy."
Mrs Granger looked closer.
The little spider lifted his front legs in greeting. "Oh hai!"
"Oh! My goodness!" Mrs Granger gasped.
"Nice place you have here!" the little spider commented, looking around. "No house weavers, though. Did you need one? We don't eat much and we work for cuddles."
Mr and Mrs Granger exchanged glances. Mr Granger gently used one finger to rub the spider's tiny abdomen.
The spider let out a soft purr. "That feels good!" He peered at Mrs Granger. "Ooo! You're expecting! Do you know what it will be?"
The spider spronged onto Jean's belly and sized her up, placing its head to her stomach. "Male, I think. It's been a while. Practice makes perfect!"
Oz busily worked with his back legs and produced a set of blue baby booties and a soft baby swaddle. "This should be good to start with!"
Mrs Granger lifted the spider up and petted it fondly. "You're amazing!"
"Nope! I'm just Oz," the spider replied. He bounced up and down on all eight legs. "So, do you need a house weaver?"
Hermione found her parents staring at her expectantly.
"Happy Anniversary!" Hermione said. "Happy Christmas!"
"Yay!" Oz cheered, raising his legs in celebration. "I love new places!"
Hermione smiled as her parents discovered the joys of helpful polar arachnids, happy that the situation had switched away from discussing her lack of a love life. Despite how much she had and could live alone— at least alone as in away from other people— there was a deep well of emptiness that longed desperately to be filled.
But no one, no matter how wonderful or horrible of a person they proved to be, ever came close to filling it.
"I told you she would return here, yeah?" a smug voice said.
"I didn't believe you, mate, but you're right."
"Look at you, 'Mione. Dressed up all fancy. Like you'd actually still be able to wield a wand," a familiar red-head said with a sneer. "They broke it, you know, when they put you in Azkaban. Which is where you're going back to and where you're gonna stay this time."
Hermione stepped out of her parents' garden and latched the front door, tracing a rune with her finger on the latch as she pulled magic from the Domain of Mnemosyne. She knew the spell had worked when the three wizards frowned, looking around as if they had no idea where they were. It was one of the first spells Dr Strange had taught her to protect magical places from mundanes. All places such as the Sanctums had the wards, but variations protected safe houses and families from being used against the sorcerer or sorceress.
As their faces wrinkled and they shook their heads, Hermione reached into her pocket and blew a shimmering dust outward. "Obscuro."
The Latin came easily, despite the fact the spell didn't really require it. Many languages came easily now thanks to spells being ingrained into her mind from various ancient tomes. Some she had read. Some she had fallen asleep on. Some had smacked her in the face and literally fed their information into her. Her master's library had always been a rather—ahem— strange place to study. Oddly, the languages seemed to come to her easily, like she was remembering a favourite old song.
She smiled as the cloud of seemingly sentient fog forced itself into their noses and down their windpipes. They had expected a broken and powerless witch. Let them try and explain what they found instead. Let them even try to remember— anything.
Her hand went into her pocket and slipped the sling ring around her fingers. She pictured where she wished to go clearly in her mind as the portal opened into the frigid cold of home.
"Goodbye, Ronald," she said. "Or should I say… Hermione?"
She stepped through the portal and it closed silently behind her.
The three wizards shook their heads and their rubbed their eyes, coughing violently. One of them promptly dropped to his knees and retched beside the kerb.
Ron lay flat on his face on the pavement. He pulled himself up slowly, rubbing his head. "Uhghfffff."
The other two wizards rubbed their eyes and then looked between them and froze, staring at Ron. They jolted into action, pulling their wands and pointing them right between his eyes.
"DON'T YOU MOVE!" they cried.
Ron's eyes bugged out of his head. "What the hell are you doing, idiots? Where's 'Mione? She was right there!"
"Stupefy!" they cried, the beams hitting Ron straight to the chest, and he crumpled and fell forward.
"That was close," the one said.
"Yeah, let's go turn her in."
"You know, I don't think I even want the reward."
"Me either."
"We should donate it to the orphans."
"Yeah, you're right, we really should."
"Come on, lads, let's take this Muggleborn bitch back where she belongs."
Wanted Fugitive Hermione Granger Apprehended and Imprisoned, Again!
Almost ten years after a million galleons bounty had been posted for the apprehension of Muggleborn Dark Witch Hermione Granger, she was brought in by two anonymous bounty hunters that wanted to remain so. The reward was split amongst three facilities for the care of minor children orphaned by the recent war.
Hermione Granger, strangely, was arrested whilst screaming loudly that she was actually Ronald Weasley (though no known spell could be found influencing her). Granger was sent back to Azkaban after it was determined she had gone completely insane during her fugitive. While the Weasley family reports that their youngest son, Ronald, has not been around for a few days, they also confessed it wasn't all that uncommon for Ronald to not visit his family for weeks at a time.
Hermione Granger has been placed in a high security isolated cell due to her being a dangerous Dark witch who has successfully escaped Azkaban once already. Rumours claim that Granger may yet be sent to Nurmengard, which has been the home of the great Dark Wizard Gellert Grindelwald ever since his defeat by the late Albus Dumbledore back in 1945.
As one who witnessed and reported on this Muggleborn harlot's rise to power as she manipulated a string of clueless young wizards during her time at Hogwarts, I am very glad that Hermione Granger is now where she truly belongs— sealed far away from the outside world, which doesn't want her anyway.
R.S.
Steven placed the paper down and raised an eyebrow. Hermione was slumped over the table over a large tome. A half-empty coffee mug sat beside her as three other tea glasses lay empty, neither beverage seemingly having done her any good at all. His cloak, as usual, was giving her a backrub (why didn't HE ever get backrubs? Are you seriously jealous because your cape really likes someone else? Get a grip, Strange!).
Strange rubbed his eyelids with his fingers. He needed to stop talking to himself, too. Thank you very much.
A pale hand plunked a foamy beverage down in front of him. "Drink," the dour-looking man said, leaving no room for argument.
Strange, not used to being ordered about, found himself doing just that, even more surprised to find that he really enjoyed the taste. "What—?"
Severus tilted his head. "De-Tension potion. It prevents stress-triggered migraines from forming, but it also makes you feel like you're getting one of those." He pointed to Hermione's massage with one finger.
Steven had to agree that he felt pretty magnificent at that moment. "Thank you."
Severus' lip curled, yet he said, "You're welcome." The dour man eyed the paper with a look of clear satisfaction. "That particular Weasley deserved everything he got. His lack of desire to work on his studies helped Potter become the Boy-With-No-Clue."
"You make him sound like a hazard to the world at large."
The pale wizard scowled. "He was an utter imbecile. When he did manage to do something right, it was a bloody miracle. You know that room you have containing the plants you have to greet by name? He'd call them something horrible and get a fireball direct to the face."
Strange's expression embodied frank disbelief. "The names are inscribed on plates on their individual pots—"
Severus raised an eyebrow at Steven.
"Oh."
"I feel I must ask her exactly how she dealt with him. I find her choice of spellwork in keeping Weasley under wraps and suitably contained rather intriguing."
"You wish to learn sorcery?" Steven asked, amused.
"I have no desire to save the world from extraterrestrial beings, demons, or rampaging whatevers that you do," Severus said. "I do, however, wonder what sort of magic allows for such transformation without being detectable by other magic users once done. I would like to know that my ficus was not my neighbour's cat yesterday."
Strange snorted. "Hermione knew they would be looking, so he adjusted her appearance to be what Ron was looking for instead of the grown woman she is now. She then bent his old memories of what she used to look like and used them as his image. Everyone that sees him will see him as he saw her. There is no magic on his body, so none would be detected. The Weave is simply tapping into his mind, feeding the projection like one would feed a pet."
Severus raised an eyebrow. "So, will it wear off?"
"There is always a limiter. Some sort of clause in which such sorcery is lifted. Knowing Hermione, it is probably something related to the very thing that got her put in that horrid place to begin with." Strange sipped his potion drink, relaxing.
"So, the truth," Severus said.
"Most likely."
"I doubt Weasley will ever admit to wrongdoing."
"Then he will remain Hermione Granger a very, very long time," Strange said with an amused twist of his lips. "Spell releases are often very simple, but tailored to some counterbalance of why the spell was put on in the first place. Sorcery is of the mind and will with the magic the flow between them. Your Wizarding spells are somewhat similar, but will and intent are far less necessary to achieve the desired end result than for those who live the art of sorcery, where just a slip of your will can cause you to show up in two different realities and in many, many pieces. Seeing as you were the one tutoring Hermione with silent and wandless spells, I don't think you would have any problems with the transition."
Snape sniffed. "I believe that I have done enough to atone for my transgressions that I do not feel the need to throw myself at extra-dimensional beings, though the offer is… appreciated."
Strange smiled.
Crookshanks took that moment to enlarge himself and grab Hermione by the collar, dragging her bodily to her futon before curling up around her, using his huge legs to surround her like a nest.
Steven flinched. "That never gets less than disturbing."
Snape sighed. "That feline has been with her for a very long time."
"Far longer than you might think."
"Hrm?"
Strange steepled his fingers. "Their bond is deeper than just this life."
Snape's eyebrows rose. "Well, that's probably a good thing. She needs more devoted friends that will not abandon her."
Steven sighed. "And what does that make us, Severus?"
Severus' dark eyes were unwavering. "Her most devoted servants," he said sombrely. "Her honour guard, perhaps."
Steven blinked. "You may be right."
"What of your doctor friend," Severus asked. "Does she adapt well to what you have exposed her to?"
Strange looked at his watch, fingering it. "She's willing to tolerate most of my quirks, but the magic— that is a hard sell, even after all she's seen. I know the feeling. I denied it for so long."
"But she is trying," Severus pointed out. "That is much rarer than you might believe."
Steven nodded. "I know, my friend. It is just hard knowing there is nothing I can do to ease that transition."
"An old friend of mine still believes that Muggleborns are somehow inferior, however; his family has generations of prejudice to surpass. Even life-debted to her—" he said, pointing to Hermione with his chin. "Lucius still doesn't understand how it's possible."
"Life-debted?"
"When one of the Wizarding world is saved by another, their magic binds them recognise the debt of a life saved. I— once had one with my sworn enemy for saving me from a werewolf. He died before I could repay it."
"Yet, you saved his son, as I recall."
"Bloody lot of good that did Hermione."
Strange sighed. "We survive our trials, whether we realise it or not," he said. "Most of mine were in my head, yet they proved traumatic all the same."
Snape gazed thoughtfully into his teacup. "Some would say that karma of having betrayed her is still working its ultimate judgement on those that took part in falsely accusing and framing her. My path had always been that of atonement— for I learned the hard way how one cruel word, even said in anger of the moment, could turn a path to an ultimate end. I was not a perfect person. I was not even a kind one. Hermione has always been a beacon of compassion, and one misguided word would have her suffering for weeks after. And we all know just how cruel teenagers can be."
"I was one of those cruel teenagers," Strange admitted quietly. "I was a vain, egotistical and arrogant bastard. Even as a doctor, I cared more for my skill in defying nature than accepting there were things I could not change. I had to be laid low to be built back up." He looked over to where his Cloak of Levitation was curled up around Hermione to make her more comfortable and shook his head. I think, if I hadn't been bound to it first, that cloak would have chosen her instead."
"I do not understand your relationships with these magical… artefacts?" Severus said.
"They choose you," Steven said. "Much like that gargantuan beast. They assist you throughout life, protecting you from harm and even doing tasks for you depending on what they are. The Cloak is, as you can see, far more capable in some regards than a pair of boots. Some are more useful than others, but they are all useful in a way the person needs. I couldn't imagine some of my students with such tools before they ready."
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Students are often horrible and apt to blow themselves up."
"Voice of experience, Severus?"
"Potions teacher— trust me when I say that if someone can blow something up, they will blow something up."
Steven winced. "I suppose teaching en masse doesn't help."
"No, it does not." Severus sighed.
"We prefer master and apprentice, with a maximum of two or three with one master. That is about all that can be handled and still remain intimate enough to see the small things and keep everyone safe." Strange grinned. "I was a handful."
"I can only imagine," Severus replied dryly.
"I'd imagine you'd be a hard one to teach as set in your ways as you are," Steven ribbed.
Severus arched a raven brow. "It won't work."
Steven smiled. "What won't work?"
"Challenging me that I wouldn't be able to learn sorcery."
Strange sighed. "You would make a good sorcerer."
"I'd imagine I'd make a good window washer if I truly wished to be, but that doesn't mean I wish to," Severus said.
Steven looked like he was about to argue when a large feline batted them both down, grabbed them up by the collar and dragged them over to the corner, curling his enormous paws around all three of them, lifted his head so the Cloak of Levitation could move on top, then set his head down over them.
The clutter of weaver spiders silently dimmed the lanterns and scurried off into the darkness.
He stood there overlooking the cliff as myriad beasts romped below, teaching their pups how to hunt, or in this particular instance how to manage a large carcass. His hair, a disarray of black, blew wildly about in the wind. He looked up, crimson eyes capturing hers with both heat and the sort of love that seared the soul without a word being said.
His hand wrapped around a sturdy spear that had been covered in glowing runes. The tip was seemingly carved in metal, but it shimmered like the most pristine ice, frosty magic dripping from the blade. "I finished it. The first truly significant thing I've ever made with my own hands without magic."
"There will be others," Hermione heard herself say.
"You do not trust my use of spears, my Lady?"
"Other things you make, my Prince."
"Loki," he said, closing the distance to capture her mouth with his. "You of all people in this Realm and beyond, should call me by my name."
Her hand touched his cheek, a jolt of warmth passing between them.
"Loki."
Hermione bolted awake, feeling more than a little disoriented.
"Do you always dream of the Norse God of Mischief?" Steven asked as he sipped his tea nearby.
"Nng?" Hermione managed.
"Most know of Odin, yet you call out the name of Loki in your sleep," Steven said.
Hermione blinked, rubbing her eyes. "I don't even remember going to sleep."
"You were coerced by an extremely large feline and a rather rebellious Cloak of Levitation."
Hermione yawned and came over to sit at the table, silently accepting the tea she was offered. "Thanks."
Steven looked at her with a serious expression. "I wish to use the Eye on you, Hermione. I have a suspicion that there are connections deep within you that should be explored since they are struggling very hard to surface."
Hermione gazed into her teacup. "They are just dreams."
"I rather doubt that," Strange said sombrely.
"Do you really think I have some sort of past life?" Hermione asked curiously.
Strange frowned. "No, Hermione. I think it is your real life… This one. Here. This is the life that is… merely transitory."
Hermione crinkled her eyebrows, shaking her head. "I grew up here. I was born here. I was a baby. I have pictures of my parents holding me!"
"Any with the birth fluids still on you?" Steven asked, seriously but not unkindly.
"What?"
"I do not question that you parents love you, Hermione," Strange said. "I simply question if the story of your birth was not quite as simple and straightforward as they claim it to be. You told me that your mother and father always said you were their miracle baby—"
"But mum and dad have a son on the way!" Hermione protested. "She wasn't barren!" She slapped her hands over her mouth, her face twisting in conflict.
Steven placed a gentle hand on hers. "Hermione. You forget what I was before all of this became reality."
Hermione's lip quivered, her hand clenching her friend's tightly. "Okay, but—I want both you and Severus there together for it."
Strange squeezed her hand. "You know very well that wild horses couldn't keep him from your side if you needed him. Nor I."
Hermione smiled and sipped her tea. "I'm so glad you are both here for me."
Dr Strange looked speculatively at the frost sabre turned half-kneazle grooming himself on top of the hearth. "Somehow I don't think that was entirely unplanned."
Hermione soundlessly snuggled up to Severus, her face buried into his oh-so-familiar black on black woolen robes and sighed.
He huffed softly. "Are you alright?"
"I don't see myself as a goddess. I mean, what sane person would?"
He shrugged. "No person of this world could not sound mental claiming such things, Hermione, but if what we saw together is to be believed— if what you did to destroy Tom Riddle to protect your friends is even a hint of the true power within you, not to mention the things you can do now— then you were never truly a person of this world. You were always something… more."
"Besides," he said. "Think of it more that there will always be those more advanced than what we think we are. Just as the Wizarding World believes they are advanced or the Muggles think they are advanced. There will always be aliens, demons, entities, gods, and slavering furballs that take us down a peg."
Crookshanks eyed Severus' robes like a treasured and overly protected antique curtain, extending his claws very deliberately. Hermione placed her hand over his head and rubbed his ears, and the feline purred, sparing Snape's robes from his claws.
"But usually— such beings remain outside of our awareness, allowing us a sort of oblivious cathartic bliss."
Hermione sighed. "Life was so much simpler when I was just a Muggleborn witch seeing Hogwarts as we crossed the lake for the first time. Everything seemed so beautiful, and just for that time before Sorting, everyone was in the same situation."
"Gobsmacked children who can't listen to directions?"
"Severus!" Hermione thumped her head into his shoulder.
Severus' lips turned up slightly, a soft chuckle gathering in his chest.
"You did that on purpose."
"Since when do I not?"
"Slytherin."
"Gryffindor."
"Not anymore."
"Nor am I, Hermione," he said with a sigh.
"To be fair, Hermione, you were never truly one of any of the houses. You were all of the houses in many ways, refusing to conform into one particular stereotype."
"Minerva once said she caused a hat stall," Hermione recalled.
"I had often wondered, had you been in my House, how things would have changed or if it would have remained the same for Muggleborns. It's reputation for purity was always something of a handicap that made it very resistant to change. Then again. Most of the Wizarding World is." Severus rubbed his chin with his fingers. "It is why they were more apt to believe you a villain than the Boy Who Lived being almost defeated by one of the most dangerous Dark Wizards that had ever lived."
"That makes no sense," Hermione said. "He was a dark, evil man. A psychopath. He obsessed over the Dark Arts for longer than Harry was even alive. To think one fluke of a protective sacrifice saved him from death didn't mean he was the saviour and only reason the war would end." Hermione shook her head in disgust.
She clenched her fist. "That I believed in him so blindly— I was a fool."
"We can be blind to our friends," Snape said. "Even more blind to the friends we only think we have."
Hermione snuggled into his shoulder. "You are one of my truest friends, Severus."
His hand patted hers as he allowed her to wallow in his robes and comfort. "Stupid girl," he admonished gently.
"Could you just bottle your scent up as a tension reliever?" Hermione muttered.
"Only you, Hermione," Snape scoffed.
Hermione smiled. "You and Steven both have comforting scents."
Snape arched a brow. "You do realise you are probably the only one in the world who would equate comfort with anything related to me, yes?"
"I sleep next to a giant frost sabre and find it quite comforting too."
"You're also mental."
Hermione grinned. "Perhaps."
Memo
From: Director Fury
To: S.H.I.E.L.D. members
I don't know what you people were on when you let an entire town of civilians get stomped into the ground there in New Mexico, but everything has gone to hell since then. People are talking about some random guy throwing himself in front of his woman and rising from the dead as Thor, God of Thunder.
But now we have some pointy-eared super elf trying to rip holes into our realities to find "his Aether"- whatever that means— and says our world is forfeit. Blah, blah, blah.
I want you to put a lid on this and contain it before the general populace figures out what is going on.
Oh, and leave Stark to me. Maybe we can utilize him for getting rid of this super elf.
"Father, please! Let me find Loki and help him find Gudrun. If there is even a chance that Jane can be saved—!"
"You bring the Aether here?! To Ásgarðr?!" Odin seethed. "You bring a human woman here? Do you truly believe that your brother will accept you with open arms and greet you as a long lost friend after what you did? After what you almost brought down upon your own people? You would be lucky not to lose your head if he even saw you."
"Father, this is important—"
"Important to whom? Your people? How about Miðgarðr? If Malekith brings down the fury of the dark elves upon all of Miðgarðr, who suffers the most? You brought it HERE, Thor. You brought an ancient, indestructible power of the dark elves here to Ásgarðr. You may have learned enough humility and selflessness in a moment to regain your place in Ásgarðr, Thor, but I can clearly see your mind is still clouded by your attachment to the mortal woman who no more belongs in Ásgarðr than a goat does at the dinner table."
"Excuse me? Who the hell do you think you are?!" Jane butted in, pushing aside Thor in her anger.
Thor flinched. "Jane, this is Odin, my father and All-father of Ásgarðr."
Jane paled. "Your— that means— oh god, I'm sorry," she tried to bow, courtesy, or something to erase her social faux pas.
Odin's face twisted somewhere between confusion and disgust. "You will remove her from Ásgarðr, Thor, before you bring the wrath of all that is left of Svartalfheim down upon our heads, and if you value your people and all of those of the Nine Realms, you will banish HER into the In-Between before the Aether eats her alive and finds another host."
"It was not her fault!" Thor protested. "We can help her!"
"She touched the pillar!" Odin seethed. "She had to touch what she did not understand. She made that choice and the Aether is using her, and will continue to do so until it gets back to Malekith and destroys everything and everyone. It was her curiosity, her defiance of fear, and her need to prove herself that caused the Aether to bond to her. Her need to stand out."
Odin stared intently at Jane. "Her need to prove herself to you!"
Jane paled, and the Aether responded, surging as though she were under attack. Odin had a shield on his arm just as Jane's Aether blew up, attempting to murder everything in Odin's general area. Columns cracked and fell as a hole blew out the palace's wall. Guards surged forward, and Odin yelled for them to stand down.
Jane looked even more panicked. Red and black particles, itching to destroy, swirled around her. An Asgardian child wailed as she tugged on the fabric of someone's sleeve— someone buried in the broken debris. Blood stained the floor, slowly moving across the broken marble floor. Another child shook the body of someone else— a child who looked no more than five.
Jane staggered back, wrapping her arms around herself, her eyes wide with horror. "Thor, please! Take me away from here before I hurt anyone else. Please!"
Thor, torn between arguing his case and the distress of the injured and possibly dead in front of him, grabbed her hand and ran, pulling Jane along with him towards the Bifröst.
Hermione huffed as a certain silver tabby and an orange half-Kneazle batted at the tinsel as she transplanted the small fir tree into a space in the center of the room. She used her hand to gently and playfully block their feline antics. The fir tree had come direct from Scotland, wrapped ever so carefully by Minerva with its root ball intact, and Hermione had very gently tucked it into some earth, using a heating charm to keep the tree feeling like it was still in wintertime Scotland and not the wintry southern polar ice cap. She watered it one handful of water at a time to ensure the earth was just right.
The weaver spiders bounced, glided on silk, and wove intricate silvery garlands of spider silk, hanging icicles from the strands as they pulled glowing mage-lights into place behind them, giving them a twinkling array of colours.
Steven smiled as he made each light separately, handing them to the gathered clutter of enthusiastic spiders, and each spider dutifully hung the decorations around the tree just right to light up the room with a not-to-bright radiance.
Severus thwarted the felines by hanging the shimmering tinsel up high, and then frowned as Minerva climbed the trunk of the tree to plunk a golden lion tree-topper on the topmost bough of the tree. There was a tussle and a merry chase as Crooks and Minerva pursued and batted at each other through the branches, causing some of the ornaments to tinkle as they clinked together.
Steven patted Severus on the shoulder, grinning mischievously. He traced a complex circle in the air, and hundreds of glimmering stars took their places on the branches, pulsing like their cosmic counterparts in space.
"Show off," Snape muttered.
Dr Strange laughed. "You make better hot cocoa than I ever could, with or without magic."
"I'll remember that in case there is an alien invasion in which they demand hot cocoa or they will destroy the world," Snape said, utterly deadpan.
Hermione's laughter broke it up as she placed down mugs of homemade cocoa on the table. She put down a bowl of something for Crooks, who lapped at the liquid quite happily, getting foam all over his muzzle. Minerva stretched into her human self, taking a seat at the table. Hermione opened a box near a large, silvery web. A few hundred insects flew out and immediately found themselves in a very sticky predicament. The spiders swarmed over their meal with gusto, making happy squeaks of arachnid appreciation.
Minerva opened up a large tin of her infamous dark chocolate-dipped Scottish shortbread biscuits and pushed them over. "Ah, now we're ready for Christmas!"
The presents glistened under the tree, all gaily wrapped and tagged with ornate lettering.
"I think you're right, my friend," Steven said.
A single spider, entangled in a garland, made sad sounds of distress in its ill-fated attempt to draw the last of the decorations into place. Hermione rushed over, gently pulling her unfortunate helper free. She plucked a plump insect from the cage and held it out. The spider pounced on it, quickly wrapping it up in silk and setting it between its back legs to carry it off to some isolated place to enjoy its meal in peace.
"Whatever are you feeding them, Hermione?" Minerva asked.
"Caspian Fringe Moths from Skelctus Krrrgh," Hermione said, not missing a beat.
Minerva arched a brow.
"They are one of the few insects that survive sub-zero climates, and they'll never invade other areas because anything higher balmy freezing point causes them to hibernate. Steven introduced me to a supplier when we found the weavers had stowed away in my robes and followed me home."
Minerva eyed Strange.
"What?" Steven said. "Spiders have to eat too."
"Mind you, they can eat lots of other insects too, but it's pretty hard to find ones that will survive out there," Hermione said, gesturing outside.
"I'll admit that most people do not consider Bouvet Island habitable, at least for humans." Minerva shrugged.
"The birds and seals may disagree," Hermione said with a smile. "I suppose there is that tiny Muggle weather and research station they brought in from Norway, but they tend to only stay a few months at a time. They never seem to notice the odd non-Earth wildlife that likes to appear here, either— perhaps they think it a hallucination of the snow."
"Overgrown arctic fur balls?" Severus quipped.
Crooks raised his head from his sprawling place, his claws extending and sheathing as he kneaded the invisible in Snape's direction.
"And the things such large felines hunt," Hermione chuckled. "Muggles think this island is warm because of the volcano, but it is a hotspot for portal activity. Admittedly, very few things port here and do not either perish or go back to where they came from."
"And no one truly wishes to be posted here, magic to make the place more livable or not," Steven said.
"I'm living quite fine, thank you," Hermione said.
Severus sighed. "Exception to the rules, as usual."
Hermione slumped. "I am not."
Snape's regard shifted as he stared at Strange. "Shouldn't you be, I don't know, spending your holidays with that doctor of yours?"
"Christine is having Christmas with her parents, and I am the one they don't want to see as I broke her heart— multiple times." Steven winced and shook his head. "She wants to do a private Christmas together, provided I am not called away."
"Gods forbid someone else glue together the universe from invading entities for a few days," Severus quipped.
"Technically," Strange said, "they are right now."
Snape raised his eyebrows. "You get a few days off and choose to spend them here? In the sub-zero loneliest place on Earth?"
"Doesn't seem so lonely right now," Steven replied. "Besides, there are a few sorcerer's that dislike Christmas or do not celebrate it, so this is the perfect time for them to shine while those that do get to spend a little time with families."
"Kind of them," Minerva said.
"Kind, self-serving— it all evens out," Strange admitted. "I hear that Fury character at S.H.I.E.L.D. is quite a grump this time of year, working his people to death and not caring if they have holidays."
"Who pissed on his holiday cheer," Minerva said, eyes narrowing.
"Minerva! I've never heard you so foul mouthed," Hermione gasped.
Minerva shrugged, feline-like. "Don't be messin' with my winter hols, is all. There will be words, and hexes."
Strange rubbed his beard. "That Nick Fury is a hard one to deal with. I get the feeling he is not an island unto himself, but he wants to be. Someone is demanding things of him and his people, and he takes it out on his people."
"Grumpy McGrumpypants," Hermione muttered.
"I forgot you had to deal with him too," Strange said apologetically.
"He didn't want anything to do with me. I was only your apprentice back then, and thus I was nothing of consequence to who he really wanted to talk to— the infamous Sorcerer Supreme."
Strange snorted. "As my apprentice, you were in full ability and right to be my stand-in for what that man needed or could know. You were not there to explain the complexities of sorcery. You were there to explain to him why he needed to move his people off a hell-portal before it devoured them all."
Hermione curled her lip, echoing a certain Potions Master's expression. "That went well."
Minerva shrugged. "I think some people need to learn by losing or almost losing the things they care most about to truly snap themselves back into reality."
"All too true, unfortunately," Snape agreed. "But, at least we do get to snap out of it."
Hermione smiled warmly. "Thank you, my friends, for being here with me this holiday."
Snape sniffed, waving his hand dismissively, but Minerva took no time at all to hug Hermione tightly as Crookshanks gleefully chased his jingle toy across the floor—
Halvor chased the woven fibre ball with a giant bell inside, the ringing sound chimed joyously throughout the small village. Whenever one of the kids tried to run up and greet him, he would bat the ball somewhere else and eagerly give chase again, stealthily avoiding all contact with them.
Gudrun laughed as Arvid thumped her companionably on the back. "What did I tell you? Frost sabres cannot resist them."
"He is like a kitten. A large, overgrown, shelter-sized kitten," Gudrun said, chuckling.
Despite his size, he still had kitten spots in his white coat, betraying that he was still growing— something the entire village wondered when he would stop, or if he would. He'd already shed one set of baby teeth, and each fang had made a formidable dagger. Arvid had one, and Gudrun had one. Arvid claimed when he was full grown, he'd occasionally shed them again, and those fangs would be highly prized for rune carving. Gudrun wasn't looking forward to it because the huge cat would whine and growl and not let her sleep until she pried the offending fang out for him, and then he'd want cuddles until his fangs came back in.
"Come, the feast is going to begin soon, and we should be there. Let the kitten have his toy and enjoy his kittenhood," Arvid said with a wink. "Besides, when the food comes out, he'll find his way back."
Gudrun sighed, rolling her eyes. "He's such a black hole around food."
Arvid smiled. "When he's grown, he'll be the biggest hearth-beast in Jötunheimr. No other will match him, save, perhaps, the great frost whale."
"I do not wish to know how we would ever feed a cat that huge," Gudrun boggled.
"Easy, hearth-sister, he would simply eat the fur whales as they try to escape the great frost whales," he said with a maniacal grin.
Gudrun groaned. "You get to sleep with him if they give him gas."
Arvid grinned from ear-to-ear like a young boy who just heard the word 'fart'.
Gudrun facepalmed. "I cannot take you anywhere."
"Good thing there is no where else to go, hrm?"
"Under the ice, hearth-brother," Gudrun said. "I will lay thee low."
Arvid pretended to stab himself in the heart. "You wound me, Gudrun."
Gudrun's eyes sparkled. "I will lock thee in a room with a well-fed Halvor after he stuffed himself on water cabbage rolls."
Arvid's eyes widened, then he fanned his hands and waved them in instant surrender. "I relent! Mercy, mercy!"
Gudrun smiled. "Come on, let's go. We shouldn't keep the elders waiting."
WHUMP.
Loki laid flat on his face in the snow, Halvor proudly laying his great head over his back.
Gudrun let out a long laugh. "I see you and Halvor are learning to hunt together."
"I am not prey, my Lady!" Loki protested.
"Halvor seems to think differently."
Loki huffed, snowflakes gathering thickly on his raven-black hair.
Gudrun extended a hand to him. "A hand, my Prince?"
"Please, if I am going to have my face flattened repeatedly into the ice, do call me Loki."
"So when you finally stop getting your face flattened repeatedly into the ice, I must go back to calling you Prince Loki?"
Loki growled, reaching out and toppling Gudrun down on top of him, his hands running through her hair as he brought his lips to hers. "Just. Loki."
Gudrun smiled at him. "Very well, Just Loki."
Loki's low growl of frustration mixed with pure desire as he silenced her with a searing kiss and Halvor yawned widely, setting his head down between his paws, watching over the couple as they watched only each other.
Hermione sat on the edge of the cliff watching the whales breach in the frozen sea and the sea birds huddling together in the bitter cold. No one had followed her. The wind cut to the bone and the ice and snow around her home was no temperate haven.
Yet she—
She walked out with just her normal robes on. The cold had never bothered her, even as a child. Her mother would hustle her inside and wrap her up like a mummified eskimo so snugly that she could barely even walk. Hermione would be playing in the snow hours later— her clothes dressing her snowman with tinfoil on their snow-teeth to proxy for braces.
Oddly, her parents simply thought she was "hot-blooded." Hermione hadn't known herself to be anything more than a child who hated wearing jackets, didn't like summer as much as winter, and had a serious love for books that involved her falling asleep in her father's armchair with a pile of them stacked on her lap.
She had also had a strange fascination for dagger fighting that her father had attributed to his hobby of collecting ancient weapons in a glass case in the house— far out of reach of her short arms and equally short legs.
Yet— had she ever really been a child?
The light of the world above was fading— sunlight dappling the water's surface was disappearing fast as the coldest water became even colder instead of warmer— one of the strangest things about Jötunheimr.
Large, swirling tentacles wrapped around her falling body, drawing her into a strange, unpanicked warmth.
"Sleep well, my child."
The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.
"Sleep, for you will always find your way back home to your mother's fond embrace."
The darkness surrounded her, but her eyes were molten fire before her lids closed and her body was consumed in a sudden rush of fire and feathers. Her body blazed in the darkness like a miniature sun— and then there was only darkness and the deep, thrumming song of the great frost whale.
Hermione jolted out of her reverie, lifting her head as the vision seemed so startlingly clear. Even in the darkness of the "season" she could see pathways of energy that outlined snow, ice, water, and life— or the lack of.
She'd never seen it so clear until the day Harry had faced off Voldemort and their spells had met, throwing them both far from each other and their wands. In the end, Harry had faltered, refusing to use a killing spell even on someone as horrible as Tom Riddle, and Lord Voldemort had no such hangups.
The spell had sung through the rubble and dust like a beacon— aimed straight for Harry's head.
Hermione had launched herself in-between Harry and the beam, taking on her phoenix form in her haste to get to do something, anything, to keep her best friend from dying after all he had been through.
Steven called it a near-death shift— an awakening of Sight into the worlds beyond the physical. All sorcerers had it in some way, but it was always enough to see arcane beasts and entities that could threaten the world. His had been a car wreck— a moment twisted by adrenaline and fear that blasted open the channels of Sight. Some, he said, experienced near drownings, electrocutions, or some great trauma that served as the wrench that opened their reality to show something more.
Hermione's sacrifice, even fully expecting to die, had blown open her mind to "more" or, what they presumed after Steven's using the Eye of Agamotto upon her was that it had opened her to her true self.
And what was that true self? Would Hermione Granger disappear when the memories returned? She had no desire to be a goddess. She couldn't even fathom making choices that affected entire Realms when it was so hard to make choices that involved just herself.
Yet, something was missing. She could feel it, or the lack of it, deep in her bones.
What of this prince— this Loki?
Surely he had found another to love. He was a god whose history with the Norse went back generations upon generations. The stories were definitely different from her memories. He looked very different from the art of the times. What was really to be believed? What was real?
Hermione closed her eyes. She couldn't even trust her own judgement on her old "best friend". How, then, could she ever make a guess on something that sounded so utterly far-fetched as being a displaced "goddess" of Ásgarðr. No matter how many odd powers she found herself with, calling them godly didn't seem right.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry pleaded. "It just got out of hand after Ron told the story. He was my best friend! I couldn't dishonour the Weasleys after what they did for me! For us!"
"Bloody well good what he did for ME, Harry!" Hermione screeched. "I saved your lives and he calls me a Dark Witch? I'm facing the Wizengamot! Azkaban!"
"It'll never go through, Hermione!"
"Do you intend to testify on my behalf? Take back what you said about me being a danger to the public?"
"Wh-uwha?" Harry asked. "I can't! I'm getting married to Ginny the day of the trial!"
Hermione's face darkened. "Well, it's nice to know where I stand, Harry. Get out. Now." She retreated into her holding cell.
Harry started to walk away.
"Oh and harry?"
Harry turned to look at her.
"I saved your life and his as well. Do let me know if what they say about life debts is true."
Harry, looking confused, continued his trek down the hall, refusing to meet her eyes.
Perhaps, had he done so, he would have noticed they were filled with wrathful golden fire.
Record-Breaking Snowstorms Bury Wizarding Britain Up to the Rooftops! Saint Mungo's Left Strangely Untouched.
Record Sub-Zero Deep Freeze Destroys Public Floo System! Apparition Highly Dangerous, Broom Users Fly at Their Own Risk in Epic Blizzard Conditions!
Ministry of Magic Calls For Emergency Snow Removal, Accidentally Floods Greater London!
Ice Skates, Snowshoes, and Skiis Become the New Rage!
Polar Bears Found in Ministry of Magic, Daily Prophet Populated With Penguins!
Dark Lady Hermione Granger Sentenced to Life in Azkaban As Glacier Forms over Ministry of Magic
Weasley Matron and Children Accuse Dark Lady Granger for Cursing Their Family With Dark Curses and Hexes.
Hermione recalled many of the headlines due to an anonymous gifter, who she highly suspected was Rita Skeeter, sending her Prophets while in Azkaban. The weather changes had seemed random at the time, but she was starting to suspect she or at least someone connected to her, was protesting in her defence.
As for the growing misfortune of the Weasley family, namely a few, Hermione suspected the disavowed life debt had something to do with it. Severus had said the consequences of denying one could be bad, worse if said person did something bad to said person— but it wasn't like Hermione was the type to come collecting. She hadn't saved Wizarding Britain for fame or infamy. At the time, she had just been trying to save Harry, Ron, and her friends and the school she had grown up in. That Voldemort, at that moment in time, threatened so many magicals simultaneously hadn't really been her priority.
The Ministry, or so she believed after in incarceration, had been so desperate to laud a hero in the Boy Who Lived (not some Mudblood freak who burst into flames and phoenix screamed Voldemort to ash) that they'd gladly framed her up and accepted Ronald's story of glory. Ron, too, had been desperate to change the plight of his nobody family. Despite all the hardship his father had gone through to feed them all, Bill's success, Charlie's happiness in Romania, and the twin's business, Ron wanted a family name that was praised in the same glory as the Malfoys were for the purebloods: heroes for the Wizarding World, if only to Britain.
Hermione knew it, even understood how the last boy-child of a poor family wanted something more, but she didn't appreciate being the sacrificial witch in which to make that a reality. Then again, she didn't really want anyone to be sacrificed for that ultimate goal. Ron, however, had gone even further by selling scandalous photographs of his own sister sleeping with the Quidditch team members.
Strife in the Weasley family was all over the board, but all Hermione knew for sure was that Molly Weasley didn't want her visiting again— ever.
Hermione sighed. She could rationalise it all she wished, but when it came right down to it, her two ex-best friends had sold her out for fame and preservation of a convenient lie.
Did she feel guilty being the judge and jury of a man who had condemned her to life in Azkaban without a thought? Didn't she just tell herself she couldn't make decisions for the many? Maybe she was more ready than she gave herself credit for. It just required a little— inspiration.
Or betrayal, a voice hissed into her ear.
Yes, she thought to herself. Betrayal made many things much clearer.
A furry thump and a deep rumble interrupted her thoughts as Crooks— no Halvor— gave her an affectionate slurp and nuzzle, settling down beside her. She'd always thought it fascinating how clear his thoughts had been as Crookshanks— and how confusing. Of course then she'd not known he was actually a giant sub-zero feline with fangs to spare.
Truly, who could have ever foreseen that?
Not Sybill Trelawney, most assuredly, nor had Hagrid, who had long coined himself a master of beasts great and small.
Hermione smiled wickedly. Neither had Ron. Crooks had hated Ron with a passion from the moment they met. He'd stalked Peter Pettigrew all throughout Hogwarts, and perhaps it would have been interesting had he actually caught him.
"Maybe I should have listened closer to you, old friend," Hermione said, rubbing the great feline under the chin.
Halvor purred.
"By the way, just how did you learn how to turn into a half-Kneazle?" She eyed Halvor suspiciously.
The frost sabre pegged her with his tongue, rumbling.
"Fine, keep your secrets," Hermione said, making a face and turning her head to ignore him.
Halvor rumbled and snuffled her, tickling her with his whiskers. Hermione ended up in a divot in the snow. She patted his muzzle and sighed, resigning to his tender nuzzling and rearranging of her hair into a disturbing bunny ear formation.
"Up, you goof," she laughed, pushing his muzzle away only to end up with a face full of feline tongue scraping off the top layer of her skin. "Argh!"
Hermione stood and hugged Halvor's muzzle, smiling as her hand brushed over the velvety softness of his fur. It had always been familiar, much like his scent. That combined with the cold felt more like home. Yet, there was always something missing. Something important, but when she tried to grasp it, it slipped through her fingers like wriggling minnows in the water.
"Well, Halvor, shall we hunt for something for the table? I don't think most of our guests have ever eaten as we do, hrm?"
Halvor instantly bristled with excitement, practically bouncing in place. He knelt down for her to climb on. Hermione pulled out something from her pocket and enlarged it into a spear— seemingly made of ice. Swirling runes went up and down the shaft and the tip. She'd made it during one of her meditations, not even realising what she had made until her eyes were open. Her fellows at the Sanctum Sanctorum looked at her like she was taking the entire martial weapon thing just a little too intimately.
Only now, Hermione was starting to realise that her past was slowly coming back into light. Piece by piece, things were falling back into place.
Hermione bowed her head and closed her eyes as she ran her hand down the spear's tip and the shaft.
Great Frost Mother, guide my spear that I may not go hungry and that my prey will not suffer long. Great Frost Mother, guide my steps that I may not falter, ensuring that my hearth shall never stand empty and my cherished ones never go without. May Your gaze never leave us. May Your guidance never falter. I am but a lowly hunter, humble in your Grace. I put my heart into Your hands that it may never be led astray.
She had always said the words either in her mind or out loud. Even as a child playing with a stick with a stone wrapped around the top— a weapon that would have broken the moment someone breathed on it— she had known the words. Her parents had thought she made them up, and maybe she had thought the same.
But they were so much more than mere words.
They were imprinted on her very soul.
Her actions came automatically, signalling Halvor to surge forward, but her trust in the great cat was deeper than blood. He raced across the frozen land, his footsteps barely landing before he was away again. His feline senses blended with her own, and she could feel the wind in "her" fur, the creaking of water below the ice, the hardness of the ground below the snow or lack thereof. She heard the fractious squawks and cries of the seabirds in their breeding grounds.
She and Crook— Halvor— had always been careful not to disturb the native bird population's breeding areas, knowing that such critical environments were quite fragile. They could live well on seal, the occasional whale, and the underwater fare, all of which most people didn't even realise existed in the Southern Seas. She had to admit, though, there was far more to this particular area than Muggle or mundanes knew. As far as outsiders knew, this island had only a few deep sea species in the depths, and far more things existed in the hidden areas deeper within the island where hidden, vast networks of waterways and thermal waters sneaked into circulation from the dormant volcano, and that didn't even include the infusion of alien cold-loving beasts that roamed hidden outside the awareness of the research station, satellites, or wandering magizoologist.
Halvor's muscles tensed, she knew prey was close. He knew it was, even under the ice.
The best seals hide under the ice, often in ambush of their own prey, she remembered Arvid's teaching. You hunt the hunter, but everything we use. The seal hunts the birds. The shark hunts the seal. The great frost whale hunts all— the weak below or the stupid above. You must be faster and more cunning than all of these to survive the floes of Jötunheimr. Feel the vibration under you. The very creak of the ice over the water. Watch for the nose of the seal coming up through the cracks in the ice— the very same the birds will leap from. Watch, too, the fattened pups that sit on the surface, but mark only their location— for bigger things will come for those pups that are true hunting. These are the things that feed families for months instead of days. This is how our Great Frost Mother tests us. The test is life. The reward is food and the blessing of Her Hand."
Hermione tensed, her hand wrapped around her spear.
Great Frost Mother, guide my spear.
She signalled Halvor with her seat and the softest tensing of her calf against his neck.
That I and my loved ones may not go hungry.
Halvor took a bounding leap, sailing through the air as if held aloft by wings.
And that my prey may not suffer long.
She and Halvor parted as she leapt off his back and into the air.
Great Frost Mother, guide my steps.
She threw back her spear.
That I may not falter. That my hearth shall never stand empty. That my cherished ones never go without.
Halvor slammed onto the ice with all his weight, and the ice cracked and exploded.
CRASSHHHHH!
May Your gaze never leave me.
She saw the fat seal under the ice, stunned by the attack of Halvor's weight upon the broken surface.
May your guidance never falter.
Hermione's eyes flicked to a shape behind the seal and then to the ice above— a fuzzy baby seal scrambled across the ice to get to the water, thinking the water safer.
The water was never safer.
I am but a lowly hunter, humble in your Grace.
Hermione wrenched herself in mid-air, adjusting her descent. Her spear glowed with a blue radiance as the power of her hunt and her faith combined together. For a moment, she seemed impossibly taller, looming over the ice like a displaced Jötunn. Her skin shone with gold and blue runes.
I put my heart into Your hands that it may never be led astray.
She put all that she was worth into the shadow behind the stunned seal— dark water upon dark water surrounding shadow. There was nothing there. There should be nothing there.
SHINK!
CRACK!
Her spear went into the brain of the hunting shark as the terrified seal swam deep into the sea. Hermione and the shark went below the surface, the shark in its death throes. Blood tinged the water, calling other hunters to the weakness of another. She twisted her spear in with a scream that sounded more bird than human.
CR-ACK!
She attached the rod and chain to the end of her spear and threw it up, floaters driving it to the surface. Havor's giant mouth clamped over it and pulled her and her prey up above the ice.
The great cat didn't stop until she and the speared shark had been moved a good distance away from the hunting site, further from the looming darkness and any opportunistic predators below.
Hermione heaved, panting, her body dripping with seawater. Her spear shined like a beacon as Hermione wrenched it out of the skull and ran her hand across it. It cleaned immediately and shrank before she stowed it away. Her eyes glowed with orange fire as her hair dried and rose up around her head like a wreath of fiery feathers— like the crest of a great bird.
A hunting dagger, glowing with runes, appeared in her hand, and she quickly slit the shark from nose to tail. She had pieces in arranged in piles within a few minutes, and she placed the head of the mighty sea hunter on a platform of ice, filled with the offals that returned to the sea. She washed her hands in the sea water and then cast the offering out into the frozen ocean.
Great Frost Mother, thank you for your most nutritious bounty.
The head floated out to sea on its berg raft, and almost within a seconds the head of a great sea dweller snatched it up and devoured it. The great cycle was never ending, and respect of that was the respect of the Great Frost Mother.
Hermione paused, for a moment her expression confused by her own actions, but then a calmness settled about her. She carved a large section of the shark and handed it to Halvor, allowing him to lick her hands clean of the blood before he crunched into the offering hungrily.
"The hearth-beast is the heart of the family. A family without a hearth-beast is a family without its most important blessing. You share your shelter with your beast, as well as your companionship, your food, and your lives. To slay another family's hearth-beast is the most grievous dishonour. One does not, even to one's most bitter enemy. For a hearth-beast to die in protection of its family is tragic but honourable. To allow your hearth-beast to die through neglect or mistreatment is to invite the Great Frost Mother in close to judge you— and no one wants Her gaze in that way, for she is as merciless as she is compassionate."
"Will I ever have one, Elder Zakal?" little Gudrun asked, eyes wide as she gently pet the huge frost sabre that guarded Elder Zakal's shelter. The female yawned widely and nudged her cubs over to inspect the little girl.
Six fuzzball cubs snuffled and inspected her, pouncing on her and knocking her down into the snow, but Gudrun didn't scream or make a noise. Instead, she let them explore her scent. Each cub sniffed her face and her hands, some of them even rubbing against her palm, standing on her chest, or giving her clothes an experimental lick. One of the smaller cubs meowed plaintively, wanting to join in with his brothers and sisters, but he was still quite small— but his small size was just right for Gudrun, who could put his arms around his fuzzy body and hug him, which she did. The cub purred happily and head-bumped her, getting his scent slathered all over her, then he licked her hair into a fine pair of bunny ears.
When it was time to go, Gudrun looked at the smaller cub fondly, said her respects to Elder Zakal and the mother frost sabre, then scurried back home to her parents' shelter.
Yet, when she settled in for the night, she felt the pad, pad, padding of something furry squirming across her thick blanket.
Purrrrrrrr.
The cub snuggled into her so she could put her arm around him , and she did.
And he hadn't left since.
Hermione rubbed Halvor's ears and flopped on him, rubbing his muscles and thumping his sides, and the sabre continued to eat. Arvid said her bond with Halvor was so strong she could take food out his mouth while he was eating it, something even adult Jötunn of many years wouldn't dare to try.
Gudrun had answered, "Of course I reached into his mouth. He said he got something stuck between his teeth and wanted it out!"
Later, she proved it again when Halvor's desire to have his baby fangs removed by force began with him stuffing his open maw into her face and giving her a whining growl.
Baby fangs.
Fangs as long as an adult human's arm. Riiiight.
As Halvor munched on his well-earned prize, Hermione set to work bundling the shark meat and strapping it to Halvor's broad back. None of it would go to waste, and neither she or Halvor ever had issues eating shark over whale or seal— unlike some seemed to have throughout history when eating arctic sharks such as the Greenland shark. Then again, magic and potions were good for preparing meats and neutralising toxins for her guests, as Hermione had no desire to poison anyone.
By the time Halvor was done crunching up the last of his meal, Hermione was done. They made their way back to their home under the glacier, following the path only their feet and memories knew. With a few stops to dive for her secret farm of cold-loving shellfish and sea-plants, they made it home before anyone was the wiser for her being out stargazing. None of them liked stepping out into the cold, Severus especially, preferring the warmth of the hearthfires and underground heating thanks to the dormant volcano. She'd always made sure Severus had the warmest room in the place as his guest quarters, knowing what he'd had to live with in the damp, chilly dungeons of Hogwarts.
For a magical building, she'd thought they would have taken better care to heat it properly for the dungeon dwellers, but that was an entirely different can of spite that would come out of Snape's mouth whenever it came up.
Whenever she had guests, she was always considerate, setting it warmer for their comfort. She'd always prefered the cold, and Halvor had so much insulation, she was surprised anything higher than freezing didn't cause him to hyperventilate.
Oh, right, she thought to herself. Gargantuan magical cat.
Did all frost sabres have that ability? Curiosity rose up, as usual.
"Well, time to start preparing the Christmas feast, eh?"
Halvor whuffed, wriggling his whiskers to rid himself of the ice bits still hanging off of them.
"Do you want to be the royal taste tester?"
Halvor purred, salivating in response.
Hermione thumped his side. "Come on, you furry old goof. Let's go back inside. You can cuddle up to Severus and warm him up."
The evening of Christmas dinner had all of Hermione's guests gathered around the enlarged table with great anticipation. Mr and Mrs Granger's postcard from France sat prominently on the mantle where a number of oversized stockings with names sewn on them dangled.
Fluffy weaver spiders wore their holiday best, having adorned each other with red, green, silver, and gold ribbons as well as tiny jingle bells. They jingled as they bounced, setting the table and making sure everything was just right.
"What's the big infatuation with house elves again?" Severus muttered.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I loathe slavery."
"It's not slavery if we want to help!" a blue spider squeaked. "Besides, you pay us in cuddles and tasty moths."
Hermione, knowing she was being baited, only sighed. She scooped up an armful of happy weavers and cuddled them mercilessly, causing them to squeak happily and wriggle in glee. She set them down, and they skittered off to do whatever it is they desired, jingling all the way.
"That was a disgusting display of adorableness," Snape said, curling his lip.
"You're just jealous," Minerva retorted. "You want a hug too."
"Madam, I do not," Snape replied, scoffing lightly.
Hermione hugged him from behind, putting her head over his. Snape stiffened at first and then slumped in defeat, muttering things under his breath.
"Seems you don't have much of a choice, my friend," Strange commented with no little amusement. "Not that you ever did."
"I did when she was twelve!" Snape sniped.
Steven sighed. "And now look at you."
Snape gave Strange a death-glare, but no one was taking him seriously.
The spiders hoisted the lids up and carried them off, exposing the array of food everyone had pitched in for the feast. Bacon-wrapped scallops, sweet potato crab cakes with spicy aioli, marinated shark steaks, steamed lobsters with truffle butter, roasted carrots with cranberries, and more filled the platters.
"Oh my, what a glorious feast," Minerva said, sniffing appreciatively.
Steven eyed the parmesan-garlic yeast rolls and sighed with pleasure. "Excellent."
He lifted another lid to expose sauteed fiddleheads and ruby red-tinted pears accompanied by a bowl of softly whipped cream. "My mother's favourite around this time of year was always the port poached pears with mascarpone cream. Regular whipped cream would never do. It wasn't proper. I'm not sure just how proper it is, but I will say that it was a great favourite at Christmas at every family gathering."
Steven watched Minerva, grinning mischievously. "Your inner cat is coming out to play, Minerva. All this seafood has you positively twitching to roll over Christmas dinner."
Minerva glared at him, but eyed the food with nothing short of fascinated wonder. "Hogwarts had excellent food, laddie, but this— this pleases my inner cat and the human at the same time."
"Only because someone laced the food with catmint," Severus muttered.
Minerva snorted. "I'll have you know that there is no catmint in any of the food."
"Checked already, have you?" Severus replied, smirking.
Hermione chuckled as she took the hands of the people beside her and they linked as well. "Christmas is not always a time of plenty in the things that matter: friendship, family, and happiness. We are very lucky today to have all the things that matter and the bounty which we are about to share. May we always remain thankful for that which we have and some of the drama that we don't. I am most thankful that I see the faces of the friends I have come to realise have never stopped inspiring me, and I am proud to have to have them as friends."
"A moment of silence for those who have allowed this meal to take place, bring peace to the spirits of those that have provided this feast, and appreciation for those who watch over us all, by whatever name they go by."
They all bowed their heads silently and looked up together.
Hermione smiled at all them as their hands dropped. "My friends, please share with me this bounty as I share with you the joy of friendship."
Halvor set his large head on the far end of the table, licking his chops.
Everyone burst into laughter.
"Time to eat!" one of the spiders cheered from atop Halvor's head.
"Well said, my small, fuzzy and quite jingly friend," Strange said giving the spider a lift to his shoulder.
Even Snape's lips turned upward. "Indeed."
Strange waved his hand and low burst of Christmas music sounded in the air. Hermione and Minerva's faces shone with happiness as they all took turns passing around the dishes. Strange levitated a large haunch of something towards the giant feline. Halvor took it into his mouth and carried it over to the other side of the tree and promptly crunched into it.
"To friends, the family we choose," Steven said, raising a glass. They raised their glasses in salute and clinked them together.
Had anyone happened to sail by the lonely Arctic island in the Southern Sea, perhaps they would have seen the twinkle of different colors coming from underneath the glacier. Perhaps, they would have heard the soft music of Christmas music and the mingled laughter of dear friends. Maybe, they would have seen the shadow of a great beast, movements of even greater beasts hidden in the fathomless deep seas. Perhaps, they would have seen the flare of bright colour in the skies that formed into the shape of an impossibly tall woman whose arms spread across the span of the skies.
Or maybe they were too busy enjoying the moment to the fullest.
Perhaps, that was the greatest gift of all on one very happy Christmas.
Late that night, as the soft glow of lights flickered around the hearthfire, one highly satisfied hearth-beast curled around his people, the warm Cloak of Levitation covering them all as the clutter of fluffy spiders filled in the various cracks. One silver tabby curled up, perched between his ears, and a contented warmth ensured their dreams remained undisturbed.
A/N: And so ends chapter 2.
A/N2: Happy Christmas and Happy Holidays for those of you celebrating other seasonal events. We shall take a brief pause so that I and my betas can stuff our friends and families with tasty baked goods and festive holiday meals (if nothing quite as awesome as Hermione had… gosh!), but hopefully this story will be finished before I go back to school in January.
My heartfelt thanks to my betas, The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, and the ever-elusive banana-craving Flyby Commander Shepard. They keep me smiling and writing, and they are my family by choice, truly.
Hope you enjoyed this chapter.
