"Please," Hermione said, as the guard shoved a bowl through a small opening in the barred wall with his foot. Half of the smelly soup spilled on her naked feet and the hem of her chemise, but her eyes were on him. He was in his forties, had a crooked nose – probably caused by more than one fist fight – and a sullen look on his face. "Do I look like a witch?" she asked.
The man glanced at her, and then turned around to walk away.
"Please!" she called out again. "Let me talk to someone, to prove that this is just a misunderstanding. Send for mister Alwyn Aubrey, please?" The man kept walking. "Lord Brandon! He'll want to speak to me, to understand! Or her majesty the queen! I'll do anything she asks, I promise. I'll leave the city, or the country. Please, just let me speak to them!" The guard disappeared from her sight. She raised her voice. "The man who brought me here! I need to speak to him, please! Let me explain!" The footsteps died out, their echoes growing fainter and fainter.
Her back against the bars, she slid to the ground, sobs going through her body. It had been more than a day since the queen had come to see her, and no one had come after that, except for the guards, and they would not answer her questions, not even talk to her. She had no idea how much longer she'd have to wait in here, or when her so called trial would begin – or how long she'd have after that.
Before they'd end her life.
It'd probably be by beheading, or she'd be hanged. She put a hand to her neck, which was wet and cold with tears.
"Terrible way to go," a voice said. "Should hope it goes quicker for you, young mistress, than for me."
"Wh-who's there?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes. The tears made her view foggy, but it seemed that someone was standing outside her cell.
"You know, I'd like to tell you about the whole ordeal, which was terrible to be sure – I've even penned a ballad that I occasionally sing, but alas, no one ever hears me," the man said. He was wearing a doublet, a plumed hat and a ruffed tunic. He also happened to be pearly white, half invisible in the dark.
She stared at the man for several seconds, because strangely enough, she'd met him before – in her past, but in his future. She was half certain she was hallucinating again.
"Nearly headless Nick!" she called out, laughter mixing with her sobs. She lowered her voice so the guards wouldn't hear her – having them think that she was talking to herself would not help her case. "Is that really you?" She wasn't sure why he was there and not at Hogwarts, but she was glad none the less.
The ghost put a hand to his chest. "I beg thy pardon? Thou addresst me thusly – as nearly headless? The nerve! The scandal! I should leave thee this very instant, that I should!"
"I'm sorry!" she whispered. "Sir Nicholas, I meant to say."
"I should surely hope so," the ghost said, stroking his ruffles, making sure that they covered his neck. His hand froze mid-motion. "Merlin's beard. You speak to me?"
"Yes. Who else?"
"And you can see me too?"
She nodded feverishly. "Yes! Oh, Nick –"
The ghost interrupted her. "Then I take it you truly are a witch? Marvellous! What is your name?"
"Hermione Granger."
"Madam Granger, t'is lovely to make your acquaintance." He took a bow. "I am sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, and I cannot begin to tell you how I've missed some company. It gets terribly lonely down here." He glided through the bars into her cell. "Certainly, this place is inhabited more than it's not, but what good does that do when they can neither hear nor see me?" He shook his head, which made it wobble a bit, and that in turn made him blush – his see-through complexion turned a bit more opaque. "Now, my young madam, you must oblige me – tell me everything that has happened since my departure. Did Lady Grieve ever get rid of that tusk that sealed my fate?"
"I'm sorry, but I don't know her," she said. "Listen, sir Nicholas, I really–"
"Oh, silly me," Nick interrupted again. "Of course you don't. You are a young maiden, and this –" he gestured towards his neck "– happened before you were even born. You know, our young king was just a babe of one year at the time, and now I've seen him to be a grown man of twenty."
Hermione looked down to the floor.
"Oh, how terribly clumsy of me," the ghost said. "Pray, forgive me. His majesty is the very reason you are down here, after all. Is it true you put a spell on him? I should like to know how you did it – I was never very good with charms. Or was it perchance a potion you used?"
"I haven't enchanted him – I've barely used any magic in his presence," she insisted.
"You needn't lie to me – I too have made a fool of myself," Nick said. "I told Lady Grieve as much – 'Listen, my dear lady', I said, 'I'm not too good with a wand, perchance you should ask Sir Malfoy instead, he didn't gain his good status for naught', but no, she insisted I'd do it, and well, now here we are."
"Trust me, if I'd put a love spell on Henry, I'd been queen of England by now – and I surely wouldn't be down here." She got to her feet. "Listen, you've got to help me – please tell mister Aubrey where I am. He lives in the outskirts of town, near –"
"Oh, would that I could, madam Granger, would that I could. But alas, I am bound to walk these halls for all eternity and cannot go beyond their walls."
Knowing he'd one day end up at Hogwarts, she knew that wasn't true. "I know you can do it, sir Nicholas – trust me."
He shook his head. "I know mine own boundaries, young madam, and it saddens me to say that the outskirts of town are beyond my reach."
She had to convince him somehow. "What about the ghosts at Hogwarts?" she said. "They didn't all die there. And if they could do it, can't you?"
He made a face. "I suppose you make a good point. However, as I told you, I wasn't very magically skilled in life, and no more so in death."
"Can't you at least try?" she asked. "You're my only hope."
Raising his eyebrows, he said, "In truth? Me? Well, you have me flattered, but I yet believe –"
"Please, sir Nicholas, this is a matter of life and death." She touched her neck again, in an attempt to manipulate him just a little. "You can't wish your fate upon me, can you?"
He tilted his head, which made it fall to the side, hanging on to just a thread. Hermione winced. Cheeks opaquely white, he put it back on. "Well, I mustn't lie to you – I would enjoy the company. But you are right, you are far too young and comely to be trapped down here with me." He glided back through the bars. "I shall make it my mission to cross beyond my limits and seek out this Aubrey, and then bring him back to you." With a hand on his head to hold it in its place, he took a bow. "I bid thee adieu, madam. ''Til we meet again."
She watched him glide away, and hoped that putting the fate of her life in the hands of one who'd lost his own wasn't as stupid as it seemed.
... ... ...
Even though Henry had decided to go see the witch to make her end whatever enchantment she'd put on him, he yet hadn't gone there a day later. He had more pressing matters to see to first, he convinced himself – matters that concerned his kingdom, not merely himself.
Catherine was convinced that he was under the witch's spell, and had sent for priests to pray for him and cleanse him of her magic, and he had let them do God's work. Yet, when they were done, he did not feel different. That ache in his chest was yet there, the ache that told him to free the maiden and bring her to his chambers and put her in his arms, but at the same time that same ache told him to press his fingers around her neck until she stopped breathing. The priests blamed it on some sort of outer aid – a witch's bag hidden somewhere in his chambers, or a clay doll baring his resemblance kept close to the maid herself. Anything of the sort had to be destroyed before he could be truly free and safe from her grasp.
The maiden had been searched the moment they captured her, but the only thing they'd found was the magic stick she'd used on Charles Brandon. Henry had thusly ordered to have his chambers and the entire castle searched in the hopes of finding something but as of yet, they'd come up with nothing – it was like the search for the hourglass all over again.
A servant announced two visitors. When he saw the woman's face, he looked away again.
"I do not believe it possible for you to know whether a child has been conceived already."
"T'is not, your majesty," Catherine answered. "But that is not the reason for which I 'ave come. I ... I should 'ave 'oped the witch's spell 'ad been lifted."
"And why is that?"
"Your majesty," Friar Diego answered in her place. "It 'as now been several 'ours since the magic 'as been lifted, and you should feel much different."
"Yet, I do not. What is it you think that you've done?"
"In God's name, we breaked the spell. You must feel different."
"I have told you, I do not. How is it you think you broke the spell?"
The man fumbled with his hand in his robe, searching for something. "T'is simple, your majesty. Break the aid, break the spell. We 'ave breaked the aid." He reached out his hand, having found what he'd been looking for.
Henry felt a sickness coming through his throat. "Fools," he whispered while shaking his head. Grabbing for the pieces, he tried putting them back together. Alas, it was all in vain – the two small pieces of wood remained separate, and the core of hair inside sadly torn and frizzled.
"You fools," he said again. "You great, great fools. Leave this very instant, before I'll have you thrown from the top of the Tower! And get someone in here – anyone."
While they rushed for the door, he tried telling himself that it wasn't too late, that in the hands of the witch, the tool could yet be mended, but by merely looking at the thing, he knew such a thing would be unlikely.
Seconds later, Charles emerged. "What is the matter, your majesty?"
He showed him the pieces in his hands.
"Is that ...?" Charles asked, to which Henry nodded. "Who did this?"
"My fool of a wife."
"And you feel no different?"
"Nay. I need you to take these to the witch, Brandon. Squeeze the magic out of her if you must, simply make sure that this is mended, so she can undo what she has done."
"But what if that proves futile, your majesty?"
"It mustn't, Charles. It mustn't. Whatever means necessary, it mustn't."
... ... ...
AN: This isn't the only new chapter. I've also added chapters within the story - chapters 14, 17, 18, 19 and 20! They don't really change the plot, but they expand the relationship between Henry and Hermione before the disastrous dinner. Hope that makes up for spamming you with a bunch of re-uploaded chapters ... Enjoy!