Funfact: did you know that since I've started publishing my stories on ff I've had 3 pennames? - But they'll stay a secret for now ;)
It took not a week before finally Hermione had definitely set herself up for a passable life. Unfortunately that was also the time when the majority of the troops arrived.
Lucy was busy with welcoming, negotiating and entertaining the important guests that the welcomed, while Susan was busy planning what would be a ball – after all people always needed a social gathering, even if it was ridiculous to hold one just before a war for Christ's sake – Caspian had his hands full with the Telmarines and the delegated task of negotiating with forces yet to come. Edmund on his part was mostly ensconced in his library or he sat through meeting after meeting at his brother's side, discussing tactics with the war-lords that had arrived.
Edmund, when not busy with drawing battle plans or meetings, was busy devouring Hogwarts: A History. For such a relatively small book, it held loads of information – almost a whole history of the people that had founded, taught and learned at Hogwarts. And the book opened to Edmund a totally new world of wizardry and witchcraft.
For example, they could cure people with potions and spells, but unfortunately also kill with – indeed – nothing but a look if they were good enough.
It wasn't unusual for Hermione to stand up early and wander the lands around her, entering the larger woods over the river, stalk through the hip-hip grass – however, what was highly unusual for her was her mood.
Hermione was usually a busy person.
No matter if she was busy thinking about something, or remembering or coming up with a plan or simply about to do something – but today, her head was void. When she had sat up this morning and thought about her To-Do-List, she had realized that there was nothing she had to do.
The day before, one of the extraordinarily hot ones this summer, she had gone to the river, sought a relatively deep spot and had proceeded to wash herself thoroughly and was promptly relieved that she had thought of at least a two-years supply of shampoo, soap and dental care. As she brushed her teeth, she relished in the cleansing feeling – who'd have known that filling her mouth with chemical foam could have such a relieving effect on her?
But now that she was cleaned, brushed and relieved of the dirt on her and in her hair, she realized that, not only was she alone, she also didn't have anything to do. Her kitchen was stocked with berries and wild fruit, a loaf of bread that she had swapped with the nearby farmer against a bit of fire-wood that the Talking Goat, Arinna, in her old days had difficulties producing. The peasant had been a little wary about her but, as soon as she'd been convinced that Hermione was no threat – as proven by the amnesty wristlet – she had little problem trading with her.
As Hermione traipsed through the wood, she thought frustrated about her dire wish to do something.
Why she should probably be training her swordsman-ship right now, or at least get her magic up to par – see if maybe she could focus enough to complete her list of achievements and add wand-less magic to silent magic which she had mastered during the war. When in Edmund's presence she made it a point to spell the charms out, figuring that he would have felt better when he at least had a chance of understanding it.
Latin might be a dead language, but even muggles could learn it in regular courses – and from what Lucy had confessed to her, Edmund had the largest library of the four siblings. Hermione sighed, oh what she wouldn't give to read a few new books. Admittedly there were several books at her home that she still hadn't read – but it was not the same as entering a library and borrowing a book from there, reading it until late in the night to be able to finish it as soon as possible.
Perhaps, she mused, entering the shade of a larger forest, she would construct a bench for sitting outside and reading there.
The skirt she had chosen that day was ankle-long, graciously covering her feet, which – while the least scarred – were still not a feature Hermione liked to show often. Her white shirt, while lightly woven, was long sleeved, but unfortunately not exactly high-collared, resulting in showing off the scar at her throat that Bellatrix' knife had left as well as the top-most peak of Dolohov's curse from her fifth year. Thankfully though, she was alone in the forest, and no one would be around for miles.
But exactly this peaceful silence, disturbed only by the gentle sway of the trees in the wind above her head, was forcibly ended when a panicked shriek pierced it. Not wasting a second, Hermione turned, running.
"And have you heard of Kundrah?", the fox asked the goose, standing over the hearth, cleaning it
"No.", the goose admitted, bending over a particularly vicious spot it seemed.
"Well, Mirdan told me just this noon that he had seen Kundrah leave for the forest behind the river… you know the one."
The goose thought for a while, trying to identify the forest that her fox-colleague meant. "The one with the solitary yew, you mean.", she finally said – the feline nodded.
"That's the one. Well… and you know Kundrah, part this, part that, she never does things the usual way and decided that she wanted, on her day off, to climb the yew and have a look."
"Did she try to spread her wings?" the goose asked shocked.
The Fox shrugged. "I guess – you never know with that child."
"Oh great Aslan… I have a feeling this story is not going to end well." The goose sat, obviously spooked – the fox placated her with raised hands.
"No need to panic, Aldeera." She comforted the shivering goose, before she wet her sponge, continuing to clean the pots. "Well, anyway, Kundrah… fell, right from the peak and it was said that that the witch was in the vicinity at that moment."
Aldeera, the goose, ruffled her feathers, earning a feral look. "Oh that… that… mongrel… if something happened to…"
Again the fox shook her head. "Quite the contrary, Aldeera, you see. The witch was around and, hearing Kundrah's scream, made her way towards our sorrow-child. Mirdan, the first to see Kundrah after her fall, asked her how she made it back and the child said: well, the witch dissipated the darkness around me, stifled the pain and then asked me if I wanted to be looked after my way or her way."
The goose had completely stopped her scrubbing – too curious to bother with any other activities. "And?", she asked when the fox stopped at the most inconvenient moment – the fox smiled.
"Well, Kundrah decided for her way and stood up, wings repaired with only a flick of the witch's wand – there's not even a scratch on Kundrah's skin."
The goose was silent then, starting to scrub the iron pots in front of her. "I didn't know witches could do something… useful." She admitted quietly. "But I guess I haven't ever really thought of it."
The fox shrugged. "She's only a person after all. And at least Kundrah has learned her lesson, no scratches or months of recovery needed."
When they were done, they cleared away their utensils, bowing to the four royalties sitting at the table in the kitchen, closest by the fire. "Have a good night, your majesties!"
"You too!" the Queen Lucy replied, waving at them, an enigmatic smile on her face.
Kundrah had to see it for herself.
When she had recounted what had happened to her to Mirdan, he had scolded her for trusting the witch. The badger had told her that she wasn't to be trusted – that she was bad, because all witches were bad.
But she had several years more on her shoulders than it appeared and she'd been born into the war with the Telmarines – and back then the man who'd called himself king had told them all that they the Narnians were barbaric and not to be trusted, and before that she'd heard stories of a powerful woman who had reigned in hundred years of winter.
She knew that, theoretically, she wasn't a Narnian – she was also not a human, and not a Telmarine. She was… well, Kundrah was quite aware that she was what dwarves called a mutt, neither this nor that. Her mother, if she remembered clearly was a Telmarine – a beautiful woman, but unusual in her facial structure even for the folk East of Cair Paravel. From her mother she knew she'd inherited her dark black hair, the tanned complexion, the almond eyes and the full lips. Her nose though and… well, the wings and the tail, she wasn't so sure. She'd say that they were from her father, but she had little idea just who or what her father had been – she'd never met him.
Which led the young girl to believe that she was, very probably, an accident of war, who knew – she was not as naïve to believe that her mother had not truly left her when her wings had first started to show. From one day to another in her early life, the one pillar she'd believed in had been gone.
And since then it had been struggle.
And she had needed her intelligence – and her gut-feeling.
And she had to see for herself whether the woman that had healed her the day before really did cook frogs in her cauldrons, creating potions in a plot to take over the throne, or if she truly did hold a raven that she shared her bed with.
However, as she snuck up to the whole that was, very obviously a window, Kundrah had to realize, very disappointedly, that despite it being a regular hole in the wall, she couldn't see the inside.
Which was unusual, but then – she was trying to spy on a witch.
Curious and intrigued, Kundrah tip-toed towards the door – quietly slipping through it, praising well-oiled hinges; once inside, she looked for a place to hide but soon found that there was not much she would be able to hide behind. The witch was standing at her fireplace, stirring something in a cauldron that released a sweet smell in the air, but from her vantage point Kundrah could not see – and she knew that she had to find a hiding place before she'd be discovered and thrown out, as she mostly was.
Hermione smiled, observing, out of her corner, the young Narnian she had helped the day before.
When she'd arrived at the bottom of the great yew, she'd seen her lying there, the tips of wings in an odd angle beneath her unnaturally pale face, unbreathing. A quick spell had relieved that for the second her body had gone into shock from the pain – Hermione had acted quickly. Thankfully.
However, she was aware what the people were talking about her in the village of Cair Paravel and she had to admit that it was strangely similar to the animosity of the people towards knowledgeable women in the Middle Ages before the Witch Hunts had started.
The girl dithered from left to right, trying to find a place to hide, but Hermione's furniture was not elaborate enough to allow such a thing – still the witch allowed the girl a little time to orient herself and take a look at her house.
"You can come near, you know.", she said then, still watching from the corner of her eyes, bending over her cauldron and sniffing. The girl stiffened and Hermione turned towards her, smiling gently. "You don't have to of course – but you might as well."
Edmund had to see for himself.
Having heard the tale of the fox and goose the night before, he'd – today – witness the rumours spread. Of the ugly witch using the poor child named Kundrah for whatever evil purposes and all other rot – that was not what he wanted to see.
But on one hand he had to return, Hogwarts: A History and on the other hand he had to see if it was true that Hermione had healed the unsuspecting inhabitant with her powers only.
Making his way towards the Witch's Hut – he thought the name had a nice ring to it… or perhaps the Witch's Cottage… but it was too small for a cottage – he could see that the door was opened and from inside came the joyous laughter of a young child. Quieting his steps, he edged closer, pressing against the entrance to peer into the hut.
"See, and this is a Patronus – it's a Protector from the dark."
A silvery otter sprouted from the tip of the witch's wand, scurrying through the hut and around the young child that clapped her hands excitedly, awing at the smoky-silver-streaks and laughing.
"And what about the potions, then?" the girl asked excitedly, watching as the otter disintegrated into nothingness. "Do you make potions?"
"Of course." The witch answered good-naturedly. "I attended a school for witchcraft where making potions was a subject. And we had the sternest professor of the whole school!" she exclaimed.
The girl awed. "And what could those potions do?"
"Well… our teacher said that anyone who accomplished a greater level could be taught to brew fame, bottle glory and even… put a stopper to death." He knew those potions, he'd read of them in her book and he also knew that Hermione very probably, with the right ingredients, was able to brew them.
"Say,", the witch then said, "is Kundrah even your real name?"
The girl – so this was the Kundrah who'd been the talk of the town – smirked softly. "No, but Mirdan is already a little old and my name is… either too long, or too exotic for him, I don't know. We settled for Kundrah."
As he stepped into the hut, he was glad to notice that neither of the women noticed him – he was loath to disturb the scene as he knew he surely would. When Hermione bent forth though, riveting Kundrah's gaze to her, he knew that the witch had, at the very least, noted his presence, even if she hadn't seen him yet.
"So what is your name, little one?" She asked.
"Kunilea Drahamadaneda."
A Telmarine name, Edmund realized as he set Hogwarts: A History back to the shelf, his fingers and eyes ghosting around for a new tome that would help him learn more. He knew that slowly he could form an opinion of the witch, and he also knew that it would be to her favour, but he could not help but wanting to get to know as much as possible – simply for the sake of learning.
And old textbook History of Magic begged for his attention next and, not questioning the tingle in his fingers and his stomach as he stroked over the cover, he chose it.
"Hum." Hermione made from her seat. "How do you pronounce it correctly?"
"Cuh-nee-leya." Hermione repeated somewhat stuttering.
"Druh-h…" the witch tried – the girl shook her head. "No, no, no. It's a sound further down your throat, like a scratching noise…", she instructed. Hermione tried again. The girl nodded.
"Druh-huh-muh-duh-ne-duh."
Edmund barely resisted the snort that was definitely rising in his throat – Hermione was a quick study, but it was always funny to hear people try to learn a completely new language and make total… well, arses out of themselves on the first try. Still, he had to admit that Susan, for example, had fared a lot worse when she'd asked Caspian for lessons in his native-tongue.
Hermione tried again – absentmindedly Edmund nodded, as if in praise. Sighing the witch rose. "Well… would you mind me calling you Lea?" she asked the girl, stepping towards a cauldron that Edmund noticed only now, a dark, strangely textured goo blubbered within
The girl shook her head. "I think Lea is better than Kundrah – I actually think that name is, well lame. Stick together the first three letters of my first name and the first three letters of my last name – not very original."
Edmund smirked – he liked the girl in a way. Hermione turned towards him, nodding wordlessly at the new tome he held – he showed the title to her. The witch raised both eyebrows.
"Good riddance with that, your majesty." She said dryly, stirring her cauldron – curiously he neared it – "That subject was about the most boring I've ever had."
Now bent over the cauldron he realized that the substance within it released a sweet smell, familiar but also strange and exotic in a way. It held a black colour, the rims blood-red and the strange texture reminded him of… eyes, intestines. He grimaced. Kunilea had hopped up next to him, treating him indifferently, peering over the rim of the cauldron as well – the witch smiled, scooping a portion of the substance on a spoon, presenting it to him proudly.
"What the hell is that?", he asked not convinced.
"You astound me, your majesty. Have you truly never seen marmalade being cooked?" Hermione smirked.
Marmalade? That… that was jam? Closing in on the spoon he took a healthy whiff before all of a sudden the silverware vanished from Hermione's hands, greedily snatched by a smaller, tanner hand and before any of them could say something, Lea had swallowed it. Hermione's eyes widened.
"Hot…?" she tried to say, but apparently the young girl was not bothered, instead busy with tasting the jam. Finally swallowing, she returned the spoon to the witch – blushing only lightly.
"I've never had marmalade. Mirdan sells it and has me deliver it, as well as the honey, but I've never actually tasted it. It's… very sweet. What's in it?" she asked, her head bending back over the bubbling cauldron, surprised Edmund looked at the witch – she was surprisingly patient with the feisty, little intruder.
"Berries from the forest. Mostly strawberries, blackberries and raspberries – also a few elder berries – it gets its colour from the black berries and the elder berries."
Edmund looked at her with a slightly suspicious glint. "Are you sure you know what you collected?"
But the witch only smirked softly, bending over the cauldron and spooning a little for herself, tasting her marmalade. "We had a Herbology Class where we learned near to everything about nearly every plant on planet earth. I admit that there were a few curious plants I did not know in the forest as well, but I did not pluck them or put them into the marmalade. So yes, your majesty, I am quite sure that I know what I plucked."
Lea turned around from the cauldron and sent Edmund a strange look. "Why do you always second-guess her?" she asked in a semi-accusing tone.
Edmund only shrugged, nearing the cauldron again. "It's in my nature to second-guess things. So a major part of me just can't help it."
Hermione, next to him snorted, but when he turned to look at her she innocently offered him some of the marmalade still on the spoon and – not asking a question he opted for tasting the jam-in-making instead.
It was wonderful.
2/3 - yay =) R&R please