Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything you can recognise from any books or TV series or movies. I do however take liberties with the plots or mentions provided by JKR or other writers. The only profit I'm getting out of it is improving my English.
Title: Secrets & Keepers – Supernova
Rating/Warnings: R/M [AU; identity crisis; teenage rebellion; canon typical violence; profanity; discussion of and references to past events of gore nature; references to off-screen original character deaths; pure-blood propaganda]
Characters and pairings: Hermione Granger with the Granger family and wide assortment of original characters (some of which were referenced in Secrets & Keepers – Collision Curse) and surprise guest appearances from canon characters. References to Collision Course pairings and a couple of minor OC pairings. No Hermione's pairings aside of brief mentions about her crush on Lockhart.
Summary: Hermione learns the hard way that there's a lot of truth that shouldn't be passed around. It's a story of multiple crises starting from identity, trust in one's loved ones, the trust which one's friend put in one. It's a story of doubts which people voice about other people. It's a story of friendships that are forged in crisis. It's also a love story as much as a story about love. A pre-PoA AU.
Word count: About 6 500.
Spoilers: Canon spoilers for PS/SS, CoS and pre-Hogwarts PoA. Linked to but doesn't require reading of Secrets & Keepers – Collision Course.
Chapter summary: Larry takes Hermione out to investigate.
AN: Crossposted here and on my ao3 account.
The story updates on Tuesday and Thursday.
I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism.
Beta read by Regnbuen
Secrets & Keepers - Supernova
Chapter twelve: 8th July 1993
8th July 1993, London
She spent most of the night tossing and turning in her bed. She managed to fall asleep at some point only to wake up drenched with sweat and barely able to stop herself from screaming. The nightmare that woke her up was so vivid, most likely born out of residual fear that in spite of having his memory modified to forget last night's argument, her Dad would suddenly decide to have her magic bound and the memory of it erased.
It was a terrifying possibility. No magic, no memory of it, no memories of Harry or Ron or Neville… What would they think if they found out that Hermione was no longer a witch? What would they do, what would happen to them if she was no longer there to help them. Ron would still have his family but Harry… they did bond over their similar Muggle upbringing between Trolls and magic and lessons and Quidditch and mysteries. They laughed of the same absurd sketches which they tried to recreate them for Ron's amusement, although to be fair the only thing which they didn't have to explain to Ron was the Parrot's sketch. There would be none of that if she wasn't there anymore.
And what of her? How would the missing period of time be explained to her? An accident that put her out of commission for two years? Would she be able to accept this quite substantial hole in her memory. Or accept the normality of the life she would be forced to live from that point? Or would she always feel as if there was something missing from her life?
Wouldl she met her friends again? Or would she be forced to make new ones? She failed to do so in primary school. Too smart for her own good and too insecure in a group setting she tended to present what was the best of her, which always had been her mind.
What if memory modification would screw up that too? What if she would be forced to live Lockhart's life. Granted he turned out to be a fraud and he deserved to be punished, but what sort of existence awaited him if St Mungo's wouldn't be able to sort him out.
She shuddered and pulled the coverlet tighter around her shoulders as she pulled Mimi closer to her chest. Her aunt's gift to her, the physical evidence that she once existed and cared for Hermione.
"I wish you were here," she whispered into the bear's soft fur. "I need you. Now more than ever."
Then a memory of her Grandma soared to the front of her mind, part of the conversation which they had many times in several verbatim. About struggle and overcoming obstacles.
"Well, like one cigar puffer once said: if you're going through hell, keep going. Things aren't going to change just because you want them to change if you do nothing. Sure, everybody is entitled to a little despair every now and then but wallowing in your own misery gives you nothing. Once the most desolating moment passes it's time to wipe your face of remaining tears, roll up your sleeves, put on your shoes and soldier on."
She smiled softly to herself at the memory. Of course the quiet plea to her deceased godmother would bring to her mind the words of her emissary. And not even a solitary one. Mirzam left behind people that were supposed to look after her when she was gone. The kindest, warmest, almost most ideal human being on the planet that had an ability to see through the things Hermione wasn't saying. The quirky old man that held her in such high esteem to follow her wishes to the letter. An old friend that mourned her loss and kept memories of her that was willing to help her uncover the truth.
And then there was her mother. The mystery of contradictions that had surrendered her rights to her, hid her identity behind an elaborate curse but continued to care for her well-being to the point of keeping Hermione's muggle household under magical wards.
"Enough of feeling sorry for myself," she sighed.
When her parents descended down the stairs and came into the kitchen they found her finishing preparations for breakfast. They wished her good morning, a sentiment which she returned as cheerfully as she could bring herself after last night's argument. The conversation that followed was mostly a repetition of yesterday's news about the caravan and that depending on how long it would take them to pack and repack it then they would leave either on next Friday or on Saturday.
That didn't leave her a lot of time for investigating, and she had a feeling that before she would depart she should have a very long talk with Arcturus. Not just about what she wished to do but also a couple of things that he left unsaid. Then there was her neglected schoolwork and she really needed to do something about it, but not today.
Her parents departed for work at eight o'clock. The practice was open from seven to seven but her parents preferred mid-day shifts that allowed them the freedom of eating breakfast with Hermione and a chance to do some actual work while at the practice. As they departed they promised that they would return around eight o'clock.
Half past eight she was at Hampstead Heath, examining the crowd of commuters, looking for Larry which wasn't exactly an easy task. Around nine, after she'd walked around the entire station a couple of times and still hadn't found him, it occurred to her that both Arcturus, the messenger, and Larry, the one issuing the message, were bloody wizards to whom possibly there was no distinction between over-ground trains and metro. The distance between the two weren't big, about a mile or so, but she was wasting time by waiting for him here while he could be waiting for her at the metro station, and she didn't exactly have much of it left before he would depart.
So she took off running.
She literally collided with him a couple minutes later on the pavement in front The Shop on the Corner that was located on the corner where Downshire Hill met Rosslyn Hill.
"I should have been more specific with my instructions," he admitted with a small, self-deprecating smile after Hermione helped him stand up and he dusted his clothes. "But it took me a cup of coffee to remember that metro isn't the only thing that runs on rails in Hampstead."
"It took me a while to realise that too," she admitted. "So, what are you planning?"
"A surprise visit to one lady in Islington. That's why I decided on Northern line, it's faster and will drop us a couple minutes away from the place we're going to visit. Come on," he explained as he turned around.
The ride didn't take them long and Larry was a surprisingly good traveller, he showed no ne of the bewilderment most wizards would have shown.
"I always liked the trains, I found them meditative and it was a good place to observe people," he explained while they boarded an escalator at Angel Underground Station. "It was a good way to spend a Sunday when there was no work to do and no clients. Even our kind like to respect the sanctity of one free day a week."
He led them down St John's Street to the first side street on the right after passing the junction. Chadwell Street where it finished opened into Myddelton Square, and from there Larry directed them north to the corner of the square. Both Chadwell Street and Myddelton Square looked quite similar, rows upon rows of three storey townhouses that only slightly differed from one another.
39 Myddelton Square looked exactly like it's neighbours. It had a fenced basement flat, weirdly unlike its neighbours with stairs leading down to it, a solitary window next to the front door and a balcony on the first storey and three sets of different windows on each floor.
Larry walked up the stairs and knocked on the front door. Quite loudly. For about a minute there was no answer and then as he raised his hand to knock again the door opened to reveal a tall, lean woman about Mum's age. Clearly expecting someone on her own eye level she looked past Larry's head at Hermione.
Larry cleared his throat softly, which seemed to startle the woman but it made her look at him.
"Hello, my name is Larry Lawrence, Mrs Fairchild," he said briskly, paying no attention to her unintended faux pas. "We talked yesterday about a former tenant of your father's," he added.
"Oh, yes," she said quickly. "The one whose name I could never spell. Please come in," she added as she stepped away.
Larry went in, gesturing at Hermione and introducing her right away, "My granddaughter, Laura. She's home for the holidays and quite bored with nothing to do except watch TV. When I told her about my quest she insisted on coming with me. Considers herself my defender for some reason," he added as he gestured towards Hermione.
"Pleased to meet you, Laura," said Mrs Fairchild.
"You too, Mrs Fairchild," replied Hermione briskly.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" she added as she motioned towards the door on their right.
"I would hate to inconvenience you," said Larry apologetically.
"Not at all. I was already planning to make myself a cup," replied Mrs Fairchild.
"If you insist," said Larry with a small smile.
"Sit down then," said Mrs Fairchild. "I will be with you in a moment," she added as she headed further to the back of the house, where presumable the kitchen was located.
"Laura? Grandpa?" asked Hermione once she helped Larry climb up on the couch.
"You have a quite unique name which I don't exactly want her to remember, and a man of my age in the company of a young woman of your age tends to raise eyebrows. It's better to play the family card," he replied quietly. "Unless you wish to explain everything…"
"No, Grandpa," Hermione interrupted him .
Mrs Fairchild returned a moment later with a tray filled with cups and teapot, next to the teapot were saucers and a plate of shortbread biscuits. The distribution of utensils had taken a moment but soon Hermione found herself holding a cup of steaming Earl Grey and nibbled on quite good shortbread biscuit while Mrs Fairchild and Larry talked.
"What do you remember about her?" asked Larry.
"Not much, I'm afraid," replied Mrs Fairchild. "I had other things on my mind back in the day. I only went down there to deliver her mail after her health had taken a turn for the worse. She burned most of them. The only ones I saved arrived after her death. They were all forwarded to her from a nearby address, some of them were delivered by the neighbours from there. But that ended in the early seventies. My father saved them because he was hoping that her son would eventually show up. It hadn't occurred to him that the man to which the letters were addressed could have been her son. And to be fair it didn't occur to me until you mentioned that he could have changed his name. Were you good friends, Mr Lawrence?" she asked politely.
"Army mates. You know how it is," he said simply. "Save my life, I save yours. I lost the sight of him after the war had ended. Heard odd bits and pieces over the years. He was quite a hot-head so stories about the prison time didn't really surprise me. Though afterwards…" he grimaced.
"Yes," said Mrs Fairchild. "It used to drive her quite mad. As did that harlot that occasionally visited with him. Maeve was her name, kind of appropriate considering what she did for a living."
"What she did for a living?" asked Hermione quickly.
"Sold her beauty to anyone who offered her money, quite cheaply," replied Mrs Fairchild sourly. "She had a beauty that would have secured her the position of an escort but she also had the brain of a hen under all of her locks, so she spread herself in front of anyone willing to pay. Four children they had, and I'm not sure if he fathered even one of them. He was stout and blonde and all of the children were on the lean side and dark-haired like their mother."
"What happened to them?" asked Larry.
"The same thing that happened to all of them, I'm afraid," sighed Mrs Fairchild. "Their place wasn't that far away so the story was all over the neighbourhood in a matter of days. Supposedly one of his deals failed to come through, or it came through but he screwed someone over. Whoever that had been they decided to make him pay. Came in during the night, slit their throats and put the house on fire. The fire brigade got there quite fast but they had no one to save except the neighbours. It was such a tragedy," she said and sighed again. "The children in particular, he reaped what he sowed but they were so young, innocent. Their girl was eight, the boys were six, four and two respectively."
"Do you remember their names?" asked Larry before Hermione had a chance to open her mouth.
"Not all of them, I'm afraid," said Mrs Fairchild with a shake of her head. "Especially the younger two, his names they were, tongue twisters which I had problems spelling out as individual letters let alone as whole. The older two were Miranda and Reginald. Randa and Reg they called themselves," she paused and after a moment added, "and Rad, the four year old called himself Rad. Always together, always following her, sometimes, and that was a couple months before the fire, they were accompanied by another black-haired boy. Possibly a cousin or something. He was about her age, maybe older. Lean like she was, quite handsome, high cheekbones, it doesn't look good on anyone but it looked good on him. He followed them around, trailing behind her like a puppy with the look of a fish out of water," she paused again. "He had a funny name. Cyrus I think they called him."
Could Cyrus be Sirius Black…
"His surname, you said that his name was Brown?" asked Larry.
"You must heard me wrong, Mr Lawrence," said Mrs Fairchild quickly. "I said Black, Sviatoslav," she spelled the individual letters out, "Black. Maeve and the old lady, her mother, poor thing she died shortly after her daughter married that man, they were Black," she paused for a moment. "So was that Cyrus boy I think," she added hesitantly. "I think that I heard Randa call him that once when I found them playing in the garden on the square. But I might be wrong. Hadn't seen him after the fire, either way."
It took a considerable effort to keep her jaw from dropping under the avalanche of what she learned. That Cyrus was Sirius Black was evident and explained how his teddy-bear had found its way to Mirzam's hands. Though it didn't explain how she managed to survive her own murder.
She tuned out the rest of chit-chat between Larry and Mrs Fairchild, trying to come out with a scenario that ensured Mirzam's survival but she was coming up empty.
"How could she survive her own murder?" she asked Larry once they found themselves outside 39 Myddelton Square behind closed doors.
"Your guess is as good as mine," sighed Larry. "She was a witch while the rest of her family were Muggles. Maybe she escaped. Maybe their murderers hadn't found her there and believed that they had gotten them all. Can't tell you for certain without examining the place."
"You're planning to examine the place?" asked Hermione sceptically. "How? What if someone lives there?"
"Well, then I will have to get creative," said Larry with a shrug. "It's not that far away like Mrs Fairchild said. In fact, all we have to do is walk west towards Grimmauld Street into Grimmauld Place. They lived under number 39, a truly accursed number," he added as he started walking down the stairs.
"Why?" asked Hermione as she caught up with him on the pavement.
"Three set of thirteens. One alone is an unlucky number but three," he said, then grimaced and flinched. "Three is a magical number, as are its multipliers, like nine or twenty one."
"It's just a number," said Hermione with a shrug.
"That's very unlucky," pointed out Larry. "Take a look around the alley next time you're there. No thirteens, no thirty-nines, no, Merlin forbid ninety-ones or one hundred seventeens."
"Superstitions," muttered Hermione.
"They come from somewhere you know," replied Larry.
"Yes, lack of education," agreed Hermione.
Larry grumbled under his breath something that sounded to Hermione's ears like a curse but since she didn't hear it very well she couldn't say what it was. And by the time she readied her tirade on how one shouldn't allow superstations to rule their lives she heard someone calling out her name.
She whirled around, looking for that person, praying that it wasn't her parents. She saw no one in her immediate vicinity but then as her name was called out again she looked towards the square and found Josephine Turner standing on the pavement. She waved at her and looked around before she crossed the street towards them.
"How are you doing Hermione?" she asked briskly. "How is the thing we talked about going?
"I've been better," replied Hermione truthfully. "And I hadn't found my mother but I found my aunt, she's dead though but I also found Larry," she gestured towards Larry. "Larry Lawrence, Josephine Turner," she introduced them to each other. "Josephine helped me with getting my hands on Mirzam's letters."
"Pleased to make the acquaintance," said Larry as he bowed his head.
"As am I," replied Josephine with a bright smile. "What are you doing here?"
"Investigating," replied Hermione at the same time as Larry said, "Planning to break into a house."
"Right," drawled out Josephine with a small nod.
"Well, only if it's occupied and I can't charm the owners into letting us inside unsupervised for about an hour," explained Larry.
"Confident of your charm aren't you?" asked Josephine with a suspiciously looking smile on her face.
Was she bloody flirting?"
"Madam, I'm a man of a short stature but what I lack in height I more than make up with my charm," replied Larry briskly.
And he was flirting back?
Hermione blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice.
"Do you have something in your eye, Hermione?" asked Josephine in concern. "You've been blinking quite furiously."
"I'm…" started Hermione slowly. "I'm feeling a bit lightheaded," she finally said after a moment.
Which was how she found herself seated on the steps of the nearby townhouse with her head between her legs and Josephine's hand clamped lightly over her wrist while Larry kept fanning her with a church bulletin that he took from Josephine. It was as endearing as it was annoying and she quickly recovered from her feigned faint spell. While Josephine and Larry discussed properties of stamina enhancing potions apparently.
Once recovered she continued the trek with them down Grimmauld Street, whose length was even shorter than that of Chadwell Street, only partially listening to their conversation which went from potions to the new flavours of Fortescue's ice-cream. And to be fair, they tried to include her into it but the easiness with which they talked made her felt like an intruder.
Finally, after what felt like ages they found themselves in front of 39 Grimmauld Place. It was a townhouse that looked exactly like its neighbours. It had two storeys with an attic space and a basement flat that unlike its neighbours didn't have stairs leading down to it. Like all of the neighbour houses it was narrow, only two windows wide, but unlike its neighbours it looked lifeless. While the other houses had potted plants on their first floor balconies and open windows, number 39 appeared to be completely deserted.
"So are we breaking in or asking politely?" asked Josephine cautiously.
"Well, I'm not exactly looking like an encyclopaedia salesman," said Larry cautiously and for some reason it made Josephine laugh before she snorted something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like 'burglar'.
"Are you quoting Monty Python?" asked Hermione incredulously.
"I do get out occasionally," replied Larry with a shrug. "Not often but I always found Pythons entertaining. I'm blaming your aunt for that. The Parrot truly is a national treasure and I have yet to see a more entertaining rendition of that sketch than Sirius's adaptation to our standards," he added with a fond smile. But then he sobered up and muttered, "Well, here goes nothing."
He knocked on the door with quite a force and Hermione found Josephine's arm wrapped around her shoulders.
The door clicked and very slowly slid open revealing a darkened hallway in which there was nothing.
"I don't like it," muttered Larry as he pulled out his wand.
Hermione followed him and pulled out hers while she saw Josephine tightening her grip on her long umbrella. After a short moment of hesitation Larry entered the house. He moved slowly, with caution and possibly as softly as he could. When he reached the level of the doorway on the right, he frowned and pushed them open. For a moment he stared into the room before he looked towards Hermione and Josephine and nodded.
Hermione followed him, in the same slow and cautious manner, gliding over the carpeting rather than stepping on it, with Josephine at her heels. Reaching Larry had taken them a moment and together they peered into the room that appeared to be empty.
But the very moment Hermione turned to Larry to ask quietly 'what now' the front door slammed itself with a thud so loud that it made her and Josephine jump and cling to each other.
From the corner of her vision she spotted movement and immediately fixated her eyes on…
…. Arcturus that was seated in a big and comfortably looking armchair with a bored expression on his face while in his right hand he was twirling his cane.
"That certainly took you long enough," he commented with briskness that didn't show on his face.
"You cock," huffed Larry. "Utter, utter cock."
"There's no need to repeat that ungentlemanly word, as I heard you the first time quite distinctly," replied Arcturus and a twitch of his lips followed that comment.
TBC
Next: An old man shares what he knows p. 1.