Sooooo ... This was actually sort of finished on Wednesday. Just had to do a quick edit Thursday morning and it would be all set. Then turkey happened ... and mashed potatoes ... and stuffing, and gravy, and green bean casserole, and fresh baked bread, and cherry pie, and napping. Copious amounts of napping. That was followed by two solid days of leftovers, which is really just reliving the previous experience all over again.

And thus, I apologize for the delay due to my food coma. I hope everyone who celebrates Thanksgiving had a wonderful holiday. For those who do not, I hope you had a wonderful 4th Thursday in November.

Enjoy!

- Chapter Twelve -

Memories and Ruins

Hermione turned and saw Killian standing just beyond the brush on the far side of the path encircling the pond. His eyes glistened in the moonlight, even from the distance, his hair sweeping ever so slightly to the side from a passing breeze that had invaded the area. Without a word, he raised his hand, after which Hermione felt a tug from her pocket as the silver Sickle slipped out and arced through the air into Killian's grasp.

"How did you acquire this?" he asked, his gaze like cold stone upon her.

"I didn't steal it," Hermione answered out of nothing less than instinctual denial.

"I made no such insinuation," Killian said. "And that was a deflection, not an answer."

"I … um …" Hermione bumbled before regaining her composure. "Altimus gave it to me."

"Did he?" Killian asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "He said it would be useful if I ever needed to call upon any of you."

"And so you have," Killian said coolly as he returned the coin to Hermione with a flip of his thumb.

Hermione caught the Sickle awkwardly against her chest, nearly dropping it as it bounded and rebounded between her arms and body. After replacing the coin in her pocket, she looked to Killian who simply stared back at her with the same empty expression he had worn when she saw him near the tavern outside of Mitna.

"Your purpose?" he led after an uncomfortable silence.

"Oh … Yes …" Hermione said, again having to place herself back on track. "Liam," she began. "He came to see me."

"As should have been expected given what had occurred," Killian said.

"Of course," Hermione agreed. "I mean, not Liam necessarily," she quickly corrected. "He was a bit of a surprise. But I guess it would make sense. He was always popping in back … Well … Before. I don't think Harry is very fond of him at all. I'm actually fairly certain he—"

"Is there a relevance to this?" Killian interjected.

"No …" Hermione answered. "I mean yes. But it's not …" She quickly felt as though she was losing focus only to be suddenly aware she may not have had a focal point to begin with.

"Have you summoned me simply to speak of Liam?" Killian asked.

No, Hermione thought. That's not why …

"I have questions that I need answered," she finally said, banishing her own thoughts in the process. "And no one seems willing to do so."

"Questions?" Killian pressed.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "Ever since the night we passed through the—"

Hermione found her voice suddenly silenced with a wave of Killian's hand. She reached for her throat in desperation and panic as Killian darted towards her with unnatural speed, grasping her by the arm and Disapparating them from the area.

There was a crushing suffocation and a sensation of being pressed through water, quickly followed by the feeling of soft grass beneath her feet in an open area under a dark sky.

As quickly as it had gone, Hermione's voice returned. After taking several gasping breaths, she turned upon Killian with blood boiling in her veins.

"What in the bloody hell was that!" she shouted.

Surprisingly, Killian appeared stunned by the outburst; almost confused. It was more emotion than she had seen in him since she had first seen him in his cell at the Ministry.

"I …" he started before straightening up and reaffirming his cool and distant demeanor. "I had to stop you."

"Stop me?" Hermione chirped. "Stop me from what?"

"From speaking further," Killian answered curtly.

"Speaking fur—" Hermione began before her words choked out in exasperation. "So you just whisk me off, is that it? Drag me along against my will?" Again she was reminded of the time Killian had sickened himself with guilt over the very idea he had done such a thing. "How things have changed …"

Hermione kicked at the grass beneath her feet in frustration, both at how things were progressing as well as her instinctual reaction towards Killian's actions. She did not know why she had lashed out in such a manner. In truth, it was no real violation. But it was Killian, and such a lack of chivalry had never been his way. Not with her.

"Where have you taken us?" Hermione asked, finally making an attempt to look Killian in the eyes.

In doing so, she received her answer. Over Killian's shoulder, in the shadows beyond, Hermione saw the remains of what was once a lush garden maze. It was now little more than twisted roots and near bare branches, few with any amount of foliage at all. With a reluctant turn, Hermione turned around and her heart fell into her stomach as the ruins of the Finn Family Estate stretched out before her.

She could remember that moment as if it had only just occurred, see the simmering flames, smell the ash in the air. It was now overgrown and dilapidated, with few structures maintaining any amount of their integrity. But it was still there, a haunting reminder of a moment frozen in time.

"Why did you bring us here?" Hermione asked, staving off her welling eyes.

"Why did you summon me to that pond?" Killian asked in return. "From one memory to another, is it not?"

"Killian …" Hermione started, but then took a moment as she struggled to hold her emotions. "This is where your life fell apart."

Killian walked past Hermione and began towards the front entrance, or what remained of it.

"This is where I was born," he said without breaking his stride.

Hermione watched Killian as he continued on. His words cut her for reasons she could not quite sort out. He was born on these grounds, in the manor that lay in ruin before her. He laughed and played as a child in the surrounding fields. But the unmistakable makeshift gravestones, three in total, that lay at the base of the fallen foundation indicated that this was also where that boy, a boy Hermione had known and cared for, ceased to exist, replaced by the man who arose from his ashes, reborn by tragedy.

After wrestling with her conscience and long buried guilt over paths and decisions she could no longer change, Hermione followed Killian, crossing the threshold and entering the old, and now decrepit, foyer within the house of Finn.

"I'm sorry," she said to Killian's back, her suddenly soft-spoken voice echoing off the tattered interior.

"Do not apologize," Killian said with a turn of his head, a turn that fell just short of gazing at Hermione. "It is a—"

"Sign of weakness, I know," Hermione finshed. "But not between us, right?" she followed up quickly with a weak, yet sincere smile she knew Killian could not even see from his position. "Isn't that what you once told me?" she pressed on as she took a step to bridge the gap between them. Upon receiving no response, she reached out and placed a hand on Killian's shoulder. "Killian?"

"Why did you summon me?" Killian finally asked, turning towards Hermione as her hand fell from him.

"I … I'm …" Hermione bumbled, thrown by Killian's dismissal of her meager attempt at nostalgia. "As I already mentioned," she finally said. "I have questions."

"And you believe I have answers?" Killian asked, although Hermione believed it to be less a question and more an assumption of fact.

"I … I know you do," Hermione asserted, although not as firmly as she had hoped. "And I believe you are more likely than anyone else to give them to me."

"And what would make you believe that?" Killian asked coolly as he sent a flame into the hearth, igniting the charred wood and bathing the room in a flickering light and enveloping warmth.

Hermione approached the fire and held out her hands to feel the heat against her chilled skin. Now better lit, she was able to see the various details of her surroundings that had moments before been lost in shadows. Broken furniture, a damaged staircase, tapestries and oil paintings worn and hanging askew. It was a cold and miserable sight not befitting the magnificent home it had once been.

"Who is the man behind the mask?" Hermione asked after she had seen all she could bear within the architectural ghost. "What is his connection to Tiberius Mourdim?" she pressed on after being met with nothing but silence. "You went after Tiberius … Twice," she continued. "Then you disappear, only to reappear when … whoever those people were, showed up in Knockturn Alley. It was not a coincidence. How is it all connected?"

Killian remained silent. Hermione cast a glance in his direction, seeing that he, like she, was gazing into the flames. If not for that fact that she knew he was simply hiding beneath a mask of his own, his expression would have seemed almost mesmerized as the fires reflected off his eyes, enhancing their flinch as he cast a subtle glanced back at her as well.

"What is the Spiorad Dru—" Hermione began.

"The Spiorad Druma is one half of talisman," Killian explained in a hesitant, yet punctuated tone.

Hermione could hear the struggle in his voice, but was surprised just the same that he had said anything at all. Daring another glance in Killian's direction, she saw his brow furrowed, his jaw firmly clenched to the point the muscles along its line pulsed in methodic rhythm.

"One half?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"Useless on its own," Killian explained further. "Offers little more than inaudible whispers. Combined with its sister, however … It can be extraordinarily dangerous."

"Its sister?" Hermione asked.

"The Eye of Infinitio," Killian answered.

"The Eye of …" Hermione echoed in contemplation. "I don't suppose you have it?"

"No," Killian answered.

"Of course not," Hermione said with a sigh. "It couldn't be that simple. And you don't know where it is, do you?" she asked on, although she was certain of the answer before Killian offered a simple shake of his head. "But the Spiorad Druma," she continued. "The man in the mask—"

"Senshi," Killian said, his eyes still fixed on the crackling fires in the hearth. "Lord Akuma Senshi."

"Lord?" Hermione asked, more out of reflex than actual curiosity. In truth, the title seemed well fitted to his imposing figure. "He's seeking out this Eye of Infinitio?"

"He among others," Killian answered.

"Who?" Hermione asked.

Killian suddenly turned to Hermione, grasping her arms in his hands and looking her directly in the eyes. His gaze was piercing, but without force, and there was a hidden compassion beyond his expression of stone.

"Hermione, you should not be here," he said, his strong and firm tone masking his wavering words. "This is not your world, not your fight."

Her arms now pressed to her side, her motion restricted, Hermione slowly reached up, grasping the underside of Killian's forearms, the only things within her reach. Her heart pounded and her breath shortened as she struggled to maintain her composure.

"I beg your pardon," she began slowly and as articulately as she could manage. "But I believe I saw your little Triad engaging with this Lord Senshi and his … whatever … in the middle of Diagon Alley. So it appears to me that your world has very much poured into mine."

Killian looked away and released his hold upon Hermione. Hermione, however, did not, her grip remaining firm.

"You know I'm not going anywhere," she said, although she could not manage to meet Killian's eyes again. "So please," she went on, reluctantly allowing her hands to fall back to her sides. "Tell me who else is searching?"

Crossing the room and sitting upon a tattered chair, Killian sat down, causing a plume of dust to spread out around him. Hermione thought to do the same, but decided against it, preferring to let the dust lie where it was.

"Aside from others like Senshi," Killian finally answered. "The Conclave."

"And that would be …" Hermione led.

"The equivalent of your Ministry," Killian explained. "With the very distinct exception that the Conclave does not abide by Commoner subjugation. The Conclave is the law of the land. Things are very different here, Hermione."

"So it seems," Hermione agreed. "I can't imagine you working for the Ministry. But here you are, tracking down talismans for your Conclave."

"You believe that?" Killian asked.

"Why else would you have tried to stop Senshi," Hermione asked, "if not to help the Conclave."

"To keep it from them as well," Killian answered with a curt punctuation.

There he was, much more recognizable as the Killian Hermione once knew. Not the cold exterior or lack of emotion, but the headstrong rebellious nature. One versus the world and any ruling party. It was the most defined of his youthful flaws, but one that somehow became his most endearing to Hermione.

"How does Tiberius fit into all of this?" Hermione asked.

"Tiberius is a puppet," Killian explained. "Nothing more."

"For this Lord Senshi?" Hermione asked on.

"No," Killian answered. "For the Outcast."

"The Outcast?" Hermione echoed, stifling a laugh. "I was unaware your world had such melodramatic monikers."

"This from the world that coined He Who Shall Not Be Named," Killian returned.

Hermione crinkled her nose at Killian. "Point taken," she conceded. "For the record, I never truly supported any fear of a name."

"It is not the name they fear," Killian clarified grimly. "Nor the name they follow."

An icy chill went up Hermione's spine. "Who is this … Outcast," she asked, now entirely uncertain she even wished to know.

As open as Killian had been with her recent queries, this time he offered nothing. Instead he stood up, drew his staff, and a small orb of bright blue light erupted from its end.

"I seem to recall you enjoyed my family's library," he said as the orb darted away down a ransacked hall and disappeared from view. "You'll find you answers there."

He then began for the threshold leading to the cool night air of the surrounding grounds. As he passed Hermione, however, she reached for him, again grasping his arm firmly.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I have to leave," Killian answered, now avoiding her eyes just as he had when they first arrived.

"But—" Hermione began to protest.

"Hermione," Killian said with a wavering of firmness and doubt. "I have to leave."

For the second time, Hermione reluctantly relinquished her hold upon Killian. But she would not let him leave. Not just yet. There was still another question she had yet to ask. Or in the very least, had not received an acceptable explanation.

"Why did you bring me here, Killian?" she asked. When Killian did not answer immediately, she pressed further. "You said you had to stop me … Stop me from speaking further. What did you mean by that?"

In truth, Hermione did not expect an answer. She held little hope for any reaction at all beyond a sudden Disapparition that would leave her alone in the cold dark ruins surrounding her. When Killian turned back to her, it was easily his most unexpected of actions of anything that had happened that night.

"How long have you been away from the Ministry," he asked.

"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked, puzzled by the question.

"How many days have you been asked to stay home?" Killian clarified.

"How do you know about—"

"How many?"

"Today is three," Hermione finally answered.

"Have you spoken to anyone of the Veil or what lay beyond during that time," Killian asked further.

"Not really," Hermione answered.

"Not really or not at all," Killian asked on.

"What difference does it make?" Hermione protested, now feeling frustrated by Killian's lack of forthrightness.

"You were being tested," Killian said.

"Tested?" Hermione choked.

"Placed within the safety of your own environment," Killian explained further. "Left to your own ends without the Ministry's eyes upon you. Would you show discretion, trustworthiness?"

"Are you saying they were watching me?" Hermione asked as a knot arose in her stomach.

"Listening," Killian clarified.

"Listening?" Hermione asked on, now feeling like a foolish child, merely mimicking words that were being said around her.

"I am certain you are familiar with a taboo," Killian said. "The Watchers have a great many of them in use in your world. They have no such effect here, however."

Several memories burst through Hermione's mind. Dollus appearing in Hogsmeade when she and Luna were waiting for Killian to return, Liam and Aeris at Hogwarts on during the Christmas holiday, the strange man in Hogwarts library who arrived from nowhere and seemed to disappear just as easily … Each time Hermione had been speaking of or listening to various stories of Voldavia. The night she removed Descending Magic from the restricted section, the night the Watchers attempted to take her and Luna away. And Luna had even mentioned her father had owned a copy of the book, only to have it by the Watchers who haunted the areas around the Lovegood home, no doubt due to Xenophilius' interest in the very same subject.

"I didn't …" Hermione began before swallowing hard and desperately trying to remember everything she had said over the previous three days. "I haven't said anything. I mean I spoke to Harry," she quickly corrected. "But it was only about my frustrations with being shut out by the Ministry. Nothing more."

"If that is true," Killian said, "then I am certain we will see each other again."

"And what if I'm wrong?" Hermione asked desperately. "I don't' remember everything I've said. I didn't know."

Killian did not answer, but he did finally meet her eyes again. "Goodbye Hermione," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Wait," Hermione spoke up quickly before he could leave or Disapparate. She then reached into her pocket and removed the silver Sickle. Holding out her hand, she displayed it in her palm for Killian. "This belonged to Altimus," she said. "And it was quite evident by your reaction that he should not have given it to me."

Killian looked down at the coin, glistening in the flickering firelight.

Please do not take it back, Hermione thought. Please

The room became so quiet the cracking of the embers sounded like drums echoing off the cracked and dusty walls. Hermione could hear his breath, see his pulse in the vein that ran beneath the smooth skin of his neck. He slowly reached out, placing only the tips of his first two fingers on the coin, the scarred letters of the Blood Quill still evident on the back of his hand. He then closed Hermione's hand around the silver Sickle, holding on for but a moment before releasing.

"You should hurry," he said with a glance towards the hall he had sent the glowing orb. "The light will not last forever."

Before Hermione could offer any more distractions, any more delays, Killian vanished before her eyes. Hermione squeezed the Sickle in her fist for a moment, then placed it to her lips, both thankful and somehow riddled with anguish. Even so, she managed to stifle her emotions enough to process a clear thought.

"The light," she thought aloud as she drew her wand and held it high. "Lumos!"

Her wand now alit, Hermione began down the hall. It had been many years, and the significant structural damage and deterioration made recognition all the more difficult. Even so, she managed to find her way to what remained of the once magnificent library. What she saw, however, quickly caused the knot in her stomach to sink further.

The ceiling had collapsed near the center, leaving the room open to the night sky. The ornate floor was a twisted mess of burned fixtures, warped and worn furniture, and row upon row of books decimated by flame.

Upon glancing up the now rusted spiraling gunmetal staircase that led to the library's second tier, Hermione was astonished to see a good portion of the area virtually untouched. How such a treasure of knowledge had not yet been pillaged from the manor's ruins, Hermione could not fathom.

She thought of how Kuulic had mentioned all those years ago that he could not bring her back because Killian had placed a barrier around the estate. Perhaps it was still intact and had kept the grounds safe from any potential looters. Even so, as Hermione strode through pools of waters that had gathered from over a decade of rains and snows pouring in through the open roof, she realized whatever barrier may or may not be in place, little had been done to keep nature at bay.

Carefully traversing the floor, Hermione caught a glimpse of the same bluish glow that emanated from the orb Killian had cast. She followed its light up to the second tier and right through the area that held the Finn family's collection of literature that would, no doubt, have made the Ministry's list of contrabands. She recalled her shock at the realization that the library held such tomes, how she warned Killian of the dangers involved in owning such things, legal and otherwise. She also remembered his relative dismissal of her fears. Now in better context, his reaction seems to have been somewhat more appropriate than it had at the time.

As Hermione passed through the towers of literature, she finally tracked down the source of the light; two books, radiating with brilliance only a shelf apart from each other. One of the books she clearly remembered from her prior visit. Lords and Masters of Voldavia by Artimus Tempus.

"Fiction indeed," she mused to herself, finding the thought almost humorous given where she currently was.

She then looked upon the second of the books Killian had guided her towards. It was large and very old, its pages yellowed, bindings frayed, and ink faded. The Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Hermione's eyes lit up as she removed the aged manuscript from the shelf. This book, more than any stories of a fanciful world she had only recently discovered to be real, piqued her curiosity and awe beyond any hope of restraint. She knew very well of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Sometime between the 1930s to the 1940s an anonymous publication circulated throughout the wizarding community concerning the preservation of pure blood. Within the publication was a list of what was believed to be the last remaining families in Britain whose bloodline remained pure. Twenty-eight families to be exact. The Sacred Twenty-Eight.

But even in knowing this, Hermione realized that something did not add up. This anonymous publication, albeit there was great speculation that it was written by Cantankerus Nott, had been penned and pressed well within the last century. The book Hermione held within her hands was far older. Regardless of any smoke or fires, the very visible damage was that of the wearing of years. Hermione's thoughts on the matter were confirmed further as she carefully opened the book, feeling its spine crackle in his palm. Scribed by an artistic hand, the pages were filled with texts and sketches beyond Hermione's imaginations.

And it was not as if she had never seen an ancient book in her day. Between the libraries at Hogwarts and the nearly limitless access she now had due to her position in the Ministry, Hermione had read through dozens upon dozens of aged tomes that held near limitless information. This was something different, something she could not place her finger on. And though she cursed the air for her sudden realization, it was something she knew would have to wait. If only for a little while.

The lights that dazzled the two books Killian had marked had now faded. She needed to go, to return home before Ron realized she had left … If he would realize.

Shaking off a sudden bout of melancholy, Hermione closed The Sacred Twenty-Eight and grabbed the copy of Lords and Masters of Voldavia. She then hugged the books firmly to her chest and Disapparated.