Chapter 4

-oOo-

Josie opened the door this time. She was dressed in the same jeans and jumper as before, but she had tied her hair back in a ponytail.

Hermione hovered over the threshold – something had shifted, and suddenly entering the house seemed like a commitment to things unknown. Was she really going to trust this woman on the say-so of Narcissa Malfoy?

She took the step, after deciding she had to; at least she had the comfort of her friends keeping watch nearby.

"This way," Josie said, leading her into the hitherto unseen sitting room. It had a large leather couch, rather loud wallpaper and a burning fire, at odds with the temperature outside. On a table in the middle of the room was a large bowl filled with water. The bowl itself didn't fit into the room or even the house – it was made from jagged stone and carried an indefinable air of age.

Hermione was about to touch it before she thought better of if and pulled back her hand. It was time for some answers.

"What is it you do? And who are you, exactly?"

Josie didn't bother pretending she didn't know what Hermione was talking about. "I'm a Squib, but I've got Second Sight. I can see into the Otherworld. From what you're telling me, I think your fiancé has been banished there, even though he's still alive."

"The Otherworld?"

"Tír na nÓg, the place lost souls go, Avalon – don't you know your Merlin? It's where the old gods dwell, at the edge of our dreams."

Hermione was quite sure she did not believe in the Otherworld, but that wasn't her primary concern right now. "Are you going to bring him back?"

"I can't." There was a finality to it that made Hermione believe her entirely, even though she still thought Josie might be making up the rest of it. "You might be able to, though. If you are willing, and if you truly love him."

"What do you want me to do, exactly?"

"I don't want you to do anything. You must enter by your own free will – that's crucial. If you're the least bit uncertain about this, you should leave now."

"I would like to know what 'this' is, before I can make my mind up about it." Hermione snapped. "If you're not using magic, what are you doing?"

"I can open a door between the worlds and show you how to cross over. It's a gift – it's not magic as you know it, but to Muggles the distinction would be meaningless." Josie looked weary for a moment, and Hermione wondered if the teenager had any idea what was going on when he was out for the evening. "Once you're there, you need to find your – your fiancé, was it? I can help you to some extent, but only you can find him and bring him back."

"Can I bring my wand? Will it work?"

Josie looked surprised. "I don't see why not. Your magic won't be able to change the fundamental facts, however – it's a separate realm with its own rules, and to come back safely you must do as I say."

Hermione knew she should stand up and leave. She didn't even believe in this rubbish, how could she possibly cling to the hope that she would be able to save Draco by pretending she did? She knew she wouldn't, though – if there was even the glimmer of a chance of getting Draco back to his normal self, she was going to take it.

"Which is what, exactly?" she asked instead. If she was doing this at all, she may as well do it right.

In recognition of the momentousness of the occasion, Josie had got them fresh cups of tea. Hermione only pretended to drink it, but soon her concerns faded into insignificance compared to what she was faced with next.

Josie had been adamant: if Hermione wanted to find her way out of the Otherworld, she would have to give up one strand of her hair.

To a Muggle it didn't sound like much, but even a second-year student at Hogwarts knew the power of bits that once had been part of themselves, especially when given willingly. The only reason Hermione was willing to let go of something so powerful was Harry and Ron in the neighbour's back garden – if there was a hint of Dark magic, or any magic at all, they would intervene before Hermione could even draw her wand.

Some things were better left to the professionals.

All Hermione needed to do was to remember to retrieve the hair before she left, and she should be safe. Assuming this Otherworld business didn't go pear-shaped, anyway.

"Ready?" Josie put her cup down slightly too fast. This wasn't a walk in the park to her either, no matter how hard she tried to give off the impression it was no more exotic than washing the dishes.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Hermione pulled out one curly hair and handed it over, feeling Mad-Eye's ghost wince somewhere across the Irish Sea.

Josie leaned over the stone bowl and closed her eyes, slowly lowering the hair. When it touched the surface the clear water turned dark. It looked like lightning had struck in the bowl, flashes of light chasing across the sides so quick Hermione had to see it a few times to believe she wasn't imagining things.

Josie was still holding the hair but it had turned into a silver thread, almost as thick as yarn. "Follow this. Don't pick it up, or you won't find your way back again. And don't look back. Whatever you do, don't look back."

Hermione remembered Narcissa Malfoy's warning and shivered. She checked her mobile, just in case – not a word from Harry.

There was nothing for it: she leaned forward, across the stone bowl, and stretched her hand out to Josie's to grab the thread.

"Harry!"

"What?" They were taking turns, and Harry had nodded off while Ron kept watch. Ten bloody hours in a bush was a long time.

"Something's happening –" Ron began, but Harry had already deduced as much and was checking his modified Sneakoscope. They worked furiously for a few seconds, casting diagnostic spells and checking their wards held, but it soon became obvious nothing magical was going on, at least.

"I could have sworn there was something – like a blip." Some people thought Ron just tagged along with Harry, becoming an Auror because his best friend was one. It only went to show how little they knew. If those doubting Ron's abilities had ever been on stake-out with him, they would have known he picked up on the slightest portent anything was wrong, like a human Sneakoscope.

"When you say a blip –"

Ron looked pale. "Like she wasn't there, all of a sudden."

They got their wands out at the same time. "Homenum Revelio!"

There was precisely one person inside the semi-detached house in front of them, and it wasn't Hermione.

"Time to go in," Harry said, clutching his wand so tight he could feel the blood pounding in his hand. Hermione had made it very clear they were only to burst in if the house went on fire or someone cast the peacetime equivalent to a Morsmordre, but she would just have to put up with it.

"Wait! What about that mobile thing – did she send a page?"

"Text," Harry muttered automatically as he checked his mobile quicker than he had ever done in his life.

Going to something called the Otherworld, back soon. Don't get knickers in a twist unless haven't texted back in an hour. /Otter

"Guess we'll have to sit tight." Harry leaned back, but kept his wand at the ready. The problem with Hermione was that she was so sensible most of the time, so that when she decided to take a risk she was completely reckless.

The walls were damp, with green moss growing between slabs of unhewn rock. The flickering light of a torch revealed a tunnel stretching into the darkness, gently sloping downwards. Hermione almost turned around to see what was behind her before she remembered Josie's dire warnings.

To her relief, the silver thread was still there on the ground – it twinkled in the dim light. She set out after it, down into the unknown.

The light of another torch appeared in the distance when Hermione had almost resigned herself to walking in darkness. It was only then she remembered her wand. Her whispered "Lumos!" echoed like she was surrounded by an army of witches, but the relief when it worked made up for the temporary fright.

If she had magic, surely the Otherworld would be manageable.

Down, down she went, until her legs were sore and her feet sopping wet, her sensible shoes no match for the constant drip-drip-drip from the ceiling and the walls. It was oddly peaceful here – her heart had stopped hammering and the urgency from before had faded with the monotonous march downwards.

She barely noticed at first, but soon it became evident that the tunnel had stopped sloping downwards and the torches got closer and closer together. The rough stone of the walls was changing too, becoming smoother.

Hermione barely had time to register the changes before she realised she knew where she was. This was the Hogwarts dungeons, and she would soon pass by the Potions classroom.

Only this wasn't Hogwarts, not her version of it anyway, and she must be very, very careful. Casting a quick Self-Disillusionment charm (having Auror friends had its perks), she hoped she would be invisible to the inhabitants of the caste.

Whoever they were.

The Potions classroom was deserted, and Hermione didn't even bother looking into what had once been Professor Snape's office – she couldn't imagine there was anything she'd like to see in there. The silver thread urged her on, winding its way on the familiar stone floor worn soft by being trod on for a thousand years.

She reached the staircase, climbing upwards for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Daylight streaming through the open doors in the Entrance Hall nearly blinded her, and she narrowly averted crashing into a group of students – first-years, by the looks of them – who were rushing down to the dungeons.

Skirting the walls, Hermione instinctively looked at the hourglasses. Ravenclaw was doing well as per usual, Hufflepuff was not far behind, with Gryffindor and Slytherin trailing behind. It wasn't even Christmas yet – plenty of time to catch up, she told herself, forgetting for a moment it wasn't even real.

The only thing was real in here was the silver thread, leading up the marble staircase.

Gaggles of unfamiliar students came and went, and Hermione tried to look at their faces to see if she knew them before deciding it hardly mattered. She didn't even know when this version of Hogwarts was from; thankfully, the lack of Educational Decrees meant it wasn't during Umbridge's time, at least.

Taking care not to push into anyone, she continued on her way up the stairs. A burly teenager came running down, almost crashing into her, until Hermione remembered at the last second he couldn't see her.

She had to rest for a few seconds with her back against the wall to calm down afterwards, thankful for her firm grasp on her wand – it could easily have been knocked out of her hand.

Up, up Hermione went, staying clear of students, even giving the ghosts a wide berth.

When she reached the seventh floor, the thread took her down a familiar corridor. It wouldn't have made sense for Draco to be in the Gryffindor common room, but his soul being hidden in the Room of Requirement seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

She remembered what Josie had said: "He might not look the same, down there. It's by his soul you will know him – that's why only those who truly love can bring someone back."

It didn't matter which world they were in – Hermione loved Draco just the same, and she was going to bring him home.

Opening the creaking door, she peered into the darkness.

"Surprise!" Wands flashed, fireworks went off and confetti littered the air. A gigantic Weasley-issue cake was proudly displayed in the middle of the room and all her friends surrounded it. Ron was brandishing a bottle of champagne and Ginny started the singing:

Happy Birthday to you...

Hermione peered around the happy faces – Seamus, Harry, Lavender, Neville, Luna, Terry. Draco was nowhere to be seen and everyone looked very young. Too young.

"No," she said loudly. This was her twentieth birthday. Draco turning up would have been as incongruous as Hagrid insisting on having a gin and tonic instead of a barrel of beer.

She blinked.

The next time she opened her eyes, she was in the Ministry canteen and Ron had grown a beard – it could be any time during the last few years. She may have to apologise to him later, as he was telling Harry about the latest Nimbus – this was the one-in-a-million occasion where a working knowledge of Quidditch actually would have been useful.

She looked around for Draco and found him a few tables away, reading a book. His shoulders were hunched up and his elbows tucked in like he was trying to touch as little of the Ministry-issue chair as possible.

It didn't look promising, but Hermione approached him anyway.

"Draco – " she said tentatively.

He dropped his book and reached for his wand quicker than she could blink – when she looked up the Ministry was gone, and all she could see was a heath stretching out beneath the rolling clouds of a sky full of rain.

Hermione was standing in a small hollow, where the undergrowth had been burnt away, and she was surrounded by Death Eaters.

The shock of seeing the hooded figures that stalked her nightmares made her hand shake, but she didn't lose her grasp on her wand. Facing them head-on, she spun around the circle until she found the person she was looking for.

He was slighter than the others, and beneath his hood a tell-tale strand of white-blond hair had slipped out.

Hermione did not need any confirmation – she could read everything she needed in the set of his shoulders and the way he kept his wand arm close to his body to keep it from shaking.

She stretched out her hand. "Draco, let's go home."

A bird sang with reckless abandon in the sky above them. Apart from the heavy breathing from the man behind her she had recognised as Dolohov, it was all Hermione could hear.

Had she been wrong? Was it the right time or should she have waited again? It was impossible to know, but Hermione cursed the impulse that had made her reach out to Draco at his most vulnerable, at his Death Eater initiation when the realities of what he had taken on had come crashing down upon him.

If she had been there at the time when it really had happened, maybe things would have turned out differently –

Of course it would have, she told herself sternly. She would have died within five seconds. Just like she might now, as soon as the senior Death Eaters recognised the Muggle-born amongst them.

A pale hand grabbed hers like it was a lifeline thrown to a drowning man, and everything flickered. Hermione dove to the ground, pulling Draco with her, as the Death Eaters belatedly started throwing curses, and suddenly they were in the middle of the battle of Hogwarts.

Giant spiders were chasing the fighters and curses flashed through the air. Hermione was about to throw herself into the fray when she remembered that the battle had been fought and won more than a decade ago.

Apparently, it was possible to become even more frightened than she already was.

"The thread! We have to find the silver thread!" she shouted to Draco, who didn't look like he knew which way was up and which was down.

"What have we got here – a little Muggle? Did you get lost, dear?" One did not forget what Bellatrix Lestrange's voice sounded like, no matter how long she had been dead. Hermione decided the thread could wait, and planted her legs firmly apart.

"Are you offering to show me the way out? I'm afraid witches are not to be trusted in Muggle stories, so I may just have to kill you instead."

Bellatrix burst into a peal of laughter, cocking her head to one side as they circled around, wand pointing at wand. "I'd like to see you try, girl!"

Draco hovered at Hermione's elbow, and she shook him off irritably. "Not now!"

"The thread! I found it, it leads to a door – "

Hermione returned to her senses, but she did not let her eyes slip off Bellatrix for a second. "Where?"

"This way!" Draco pointed to an unobtrusive door she never had seen at the real Hogwarts, and Hermione channelled all the power she could summon into a variation on the Blasting curse she had mastered long after the last time she had faced Bellatrix:

"Confringo!"

She grabbed Draco's hand and ran, following the silver thread through the open door and into the darkness.