That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
-Robert Browning
The more Hermione quizzed "Loony" Potter, as she thought of him, the less inclined she was to go to some authority about him. Young or old, you had to admit, he'd not had the easiest life. And the events he was so desperate to prevent were, indeed, evil by anyone's standards. In fact, she was a bit ashamed of herself, given the bulk of them were aimed at people like herself, simply for their condition of birth. Which added urgency to the fact that they'd all had nothing to look forward to on that front after the war they'd very narrowly squeaked through. Her older self, dubbed "Portrait Hermione," also chastised her for the use of "Loony," as that was something that would hurt Luna if she heard it as much as hearing "freak" did Potter.
She was even more chastised when she found out that "freak" was what Potter thought his name was when he was a young child until primary school forced his abusive relatives to admit he'd had actual parents who'd given him a proper name at birth. "Freak" was also the name used when they screamed at him and locked him in a dark little cupboard under the stairs, even as a toddler, then starved and even beat him a little later. In those circumstances, Hermione knew, she'd have gone spare in general, and especially hearing that word applied to herself. It was worse than if Potter had been calling her "mud blood."
With no real outlet for all her frustrations, she pledged herself to be really driven in her research. As a peace offering, she went with Potter on the boat to Hogwarts and didn't quarrel when the hat assigned her to Gryffindor, even though she knew her nemesis was headed there as well.
It was at breakfast of their very first day that she actually had her first warm feelings for Oh-Very-Well-Not-Loony-I-Suppose-If-You-Must-Insist Potter. He deliberately sat down where there were only two places, side by side. When the redheaded boy he'd ushered away from their compartment showed up, quite late, he had to sit a ways away from them. Though he had only a half-hour for breakfast, he managed to make up for lost time quickly — and savagely.
"That," observed Potter, suddenly, "is Ron Weasley." Hermione shuddered.
"When | came back," he said conversationally, "he was telling everyone he had decided to offer you protection as one of his Muggle-born mistresses. And how lucky you were to get to share his bed with - at the time - her." With that, he pointed at a very pretty older girl at the Ravenclaw table. "His older brother's mistress, technically. He'd promised to marry her, but he bounced back into a solid Ministry career, so marrying a half-blood just wasn't on. Family is important to the Weasleys, which the brothers express by sharing non-pureblood girls. Being a half-blood, | wasn't a guaranteed protector, of course. Despite being an Order of Merlin winner with two other votes on the Wizengamot. That's how quickly blood purity came roaring back. In fairness, Bill, Charlie, and his parents wanted him to marry you as a second wife, just to keep the Weasley line from inbreeding itself out of existence."
The sour but embarrassed look he got from Hermione at that was all the thanks she planned to give the prat. Then she discovered girls who were just portraits existing only in her mind could still giggle.
"... Starting with the brains, obviously," Potter continued, smirking, as they watched the worst table manners on Earth enjoying themselves in a completely unselfconscious fashion.
Speaking of her double, however ... "Potter, | consult with 'your' Hermione constantly, | hope you realise. In addition to teaching me Occlumency, she is going to give me every tip and shortcut possible for every class, so we can concentrate on your projects. We'll probably have to do the same for you. In return, we need to get your money tout suite, Potter. And | want an unlimited budget. Unless you absolutely cannot afford it, if | ask for something, you buy it."
Potter simply nodded, but then he paused. "Is it too much to ask to call me by my first name, Hermione? You sound like Pansy Parkinson as it is."
She paused, annoyed. In truth, it was probably for the best as long as it didn't give him ideas. "Very well, Harry. This budget thing is going to come up today, actually."
Harry was nonplussed. "It is?" He looked at her suspiciously. "How will we manage that, given we're first years and it's a week-day, to boot?"
"Well, for one thing, because she didn't want to encourage your already bad habits, your Hermione never told you a very salient fact." She turned completely toward Potter, eager to see his reaction. She was rewarded when Harry looked over at her impatiently.
"... Binns never, and I mean never, takes attendance. He can't. He doesn't know any names or even how many students he has," she said with a smirk.
"But ..." Harry began.
"I know what you're going to say, Harry. What if one of the students turns us in? Well, that will never happen. First of all, everyone skives off of HoM at some point. That's when your Hermione took her breaks in third year. She always waited until you and Ron fell asleep. Secondly, just like Herbology, we have it with Hufflepuff. Can you see them narcing?" Hermione asked.
"I thought for whatever evil reason we had all our classes with Slytherin," Harry observed.
"More than our share, perhaps, but no, Harry."
"So, what's the exact plan here?"
"We tell Professor Sprout we need to leave a bit early — your family business, a floo call in the common room, and so on."
"What will we really do?" Harry wondered.
Amused, Hermione pretended to ponder that. "Your family business, a floo call in the common room, and so on, actually."
At his bemused expression, she added. "We leave Herbology early, hit the common room. We head out to Ottery St. Catchpole, where my contractor and his assistant are."
"Hermione," Harry interrupted, "the floo in the common room only allows incoming calls."
Hermione was even more amused, and showed it. "It does. That's why Mr Lovegood will call through it around the time we should be able to get there after Herbology. if someone does that, and you voluntarily move into the flame, they can pull you through. Then we simply skip lunch, skive off History of Magic, and are late for Care. It's our first day, so no wonder you, Neville and I got lost."
"Neville?"
"He's how we get back. We'll have Mr Lovegood floo call the common room and Neville can pull us back," she explained.
"If you can do that, why wouldn't someone like the twins have figured it out by now."
"I think," Hermione said, "you may be a bit disappointed in the twins this time around. They've got the almost-but-not-quite bullying thing down, but not the finesse they developed later. Remember they're only thirteen, and frankly, I am far more mature at eleven than they'll probably be until they're in fifth year. That said, your father and friends most certainly took advantage of the common room floo escape, quite frequently. It just didn't need marking on the Map, because it's not a hidden passage."
From the stunned expression on Harry's face, Hermione could tell he hadn't really assimilated her statement that she was in constant communication with her portrait self. He shrugged. "While it will be great to meet Luna, how do you know our contractor will be there in Ottery St. Catchpole, and who is he?"
"Xenophilius Lovegood is, in fact, our contractor, and Luna will be assisting him."
"What on Earth are we contracting them for?"
"Portrait," she replied, tersely.
"Wait," he said, shocked. "Xeno can do portraits."
"Mr Lovegood is one of the best creators of wizarding portraits in Magical Britain, Harry. And Luna is his ace in the hole. Basically, according to Portrait Hermione, she sees absolutely everything. In a way, all her creatures are how she sees the auras Pandora trained her in understanding, but there's a deeper insight that either the creatures exist on a very hard-to-detect plane, or they somehow wander in and out of ours depending on the aura. Mr Lovegood does all the measurements, you'll repeat your trick with my bodily fluids and so on, he'll create the portrait, then Luna will essentially bless it with ... well, it could be Seer magic or even fairy magic, no one ever could prove one or the other for sure. But the final touches are what make their portraits come to life. It will look like Luna's barely touching it up, but most of what she paints we can't detect. Only occasionally does it fall within our range."
"Umm, Hermione ..." Harry began, "who are we doing portraits of?"
"Us, silly."
Harry looked shocked yet again. "You think we're about to die?"
"If I thought that, Harry," she began with a grin, "I wouldn't have you come anywhere near it with your disturbing extractions and transfigurations. This is for older Hermione - and older you."
"I wouldn't have thought," Harry said, thoughtfully, "this was any sort of priority, let alone something you needed a budget for."
"Well, older Hermione suggested them, and Mr Lovegood is blackballed so many different ways it's a wonder he and Luna don't starve. We're going to pay him the going rate for the best portraits. It's only fair."
Everything fell out the way Harry vaguely remembered it and the way Hermione planned it.
Charms included Professor Flitwick falling off his chair when Harry's name was arrived at. Neither of them volunteered a thing in Potions. Harry answered Snape's unfair questions tersely and correctly, ignored unfair point losses, led Hermione in creating their potion perfectly and as quickly as allowed (they saved time on the preparation), and managed to save Neville from melting his cauldron down. They also refused to lift their eyes the entire class, no matter what Snape did or said.
Professor Sprout had no issues with them leaving early the first day, which was just an introduction and reading class. Xeno Lovegood floo-called just as they reached the common room, out of breath, and pulled them through to the Rook.
Harry looked surprised to see a Pensieve, but Hermione explained he needed it for The Quibbler. Xeno and Luna went to set the table and prepare tea. She put her hands on her hips as she addressed Harry.
"Other Hermione is a little mad at herself for not telling you this, but you were also a little dense about the Lovegoods. So was she, she's not denying how she used to go at Luna, but still... The Quibbler is quite a dangerous enterprise, and no one really knows if Pandora's death was an accident or not. All of his stories are sort of 'in code,' Harry."
"For instance, the Rotfang conspiracy involved a major challenge by a really dreadful Goblin family of which he was the patriarch. Their philosophy was, give the Death Eaters whatever they want, as long as their allies at Gringott's get a cut, and everyone gets a heads-up when Voldemort starts rolling up Wizarding Britain, so they can transfer all their gold out. And that utter evil bitch Umbridge literally did say, at a cosy event she and Fudge were at, that goblins should be baked into pies and fed to Muggle-borns. Lots of people heard her, but because they were all the 'right people,' no one said a word. No telling tales out of school for Pureblood Britain."
"Next, you'll say Sirius was really Stubby Boardman."
This finally made Hermione break down laughing.
"In all the time you spent with him, are you saying you never asked him?"
Harry looked at her quizzically.
"Sirius wanted to go beyond riding his tough motorcycle, living with the Potters and snubbing his parents, tormenting the Slytherins, and so on, Harry. He found out his mother didn't have the authority to truly kick him out of the Black family. But his grandfather, Arcturus, most certainly did - he was Lord Black. He contacted Sirius saying playing muggle rock-and-roll under his given name would be a family deal-breaker. When Sirius suggested a rather thin disguise, a glamour, and the absurd name 'Stubby Boardman and the Hobgoblins' for what amounted to the Marauders and friends screwing around with instruments and singing off-key, apparently old Arcturus actually cracked a smile for the first time in a decade. Yes, I am saying Sirius was really Stubby Boardman. Whenever he was about to get caught, he'd have one of his friends take Polyjuice so Sirius Black and Stubby Boardman could be in the same picture. Luna pointed out the discrepancy the first time she saw one of those. The aura was different from another wizarding picture Sirius took with Mr Lovegood in school."
"Anyway, the other insurance Mr Lovegood has is heavy use of a Pensieve. In dangerous cases, he leaves a copy with Madam Bones at the DMLE. Sometimes he even sent some memories to the ICW."
At her next train of thought prompted by Portrait Hermione, she felt a lump in her throat. "And Harry, we don't really understand what Pandora, Xeno, and Luna were like before the tragedy. Pandora held the entire thing together, and with her gone, the Lovegoods we met were, by all accounts, a pale shadow of what they'd been before. A lot of magical naturalists commented that when Luna was seven and eight she was already a seasoned expedition member who pulled her weight. And no one of any age could top her in finding rare creatures."
"Now, I feel like meeting Luna is akin to meeting royalty," Harry joked.
"In some circles," Hermione replied, taking him seriously. "She's related to Ollivander, Trelawney, and Malfoy, and all three show up somewhere. Don't underestimate her. Also, she's quote 'as cute as a bug's ear.' Other Hermione begged copies of some of her childhood pictures. You two didn't even meet her until she was fourteen, and she's only ten now."
"You've come quite a ways since you were holding an athame up to my eyeball," was all Harry replied to that. Hermione blushed.
"Other Hermione really, really wants to mother her," she got out before the Lovegoods came back and led them to the kitchen.
Tea didn't last very long. They all had a great deal to do and little time to do it. Hermione let Harry charm her to sleep and extract her various essences. They'd made a Gemino copy of her diary that morning, as well as one of the shabby notebooks Harry sometimes used as a journal. Harry had helped Portrait Hermione teach her younger self how to do the same for him after she charmed him to sleep. While he slept, they prepared Harry's wizarding canvas, and Xeno and Luna set up their preliminary sketching and brushing equipment. When Harry awoke, they were in the process of finishing a portrait preparing ritual that the two Hermiones had decided to merge with the same ritual Harry had tried to use on Hermione the day before. That everything had changed so much in a couple of days left Harry not knowing what to think about it all, Hermione decided, looking at his lost expression sympathetically. Mr Lovegood sketched out Harry's portrait, and Luna drew faint lines extending from various places on his body. For a second, Harry twitched and stared at the canvas.
"That felt like something moved out of me just then," he exclaimed. "But ... yes, it's still there," he continued, cryptically.
"You probably shouldn't call the proper owner of that body an 'it,' Harry Potter!" Luna piped in, suddenly. Harry just stared at her, and Luna just smiled.
All of Harry's essences vanished at the end of the ritual. Mr Lovegood told him they'd gone into the paints and would make this portrait something beyond the normal ones.
Hermione knew now was not the time to tell Harry she'd taken and transfigured twice as much material as she needed for this ritual. Instead, she chose to answer Potter ... no, Harry's statement. "Not mine, unfortunately. We won't be able to communicate again until we pick up the portraits on Friday. We're taking care of last-minute business as we speak."
Harry wasn't nearly as observant of the finer details of rituals as Portrait Hermione, so it wasn't surprising he never noticed that the ritual for Hermione included a full exorcism. It would only confuse him, trying to figure out where souls came into it all.
Luna was as cute as advertised, and they spent half an hour drinking cocoa and colouring with her. Her crayons didn't seem to leave a mark until you viewed them through a strange set of spectacles called a "Spectre-Scope," but when you did, they were breathtakingly lovely colours more like oil pastels than wax crayons.
As they were preparing to leave, Luna stopped them. "Hermione!"
When Hermione turned around, she ran over to them and added, "You can hug me all you want, whenever you want."
From the look on her face as they did just that, Luna felt the same bliss she did.
The rest of the week was uneventful. It was clear Harry and Hermione were very close, but they were friendly to most of the students in their year, and many in the years above them. Harry refused to stand out in flying class and basically did no better than Hermione. They were competent, solid fliers. Portrait Hermione had given her many tips, all of which made the process smoother. Defence Against the Dark Arts was treated like Potions. Neither of them volunteered anything or let their eyes move up from halfway towards the floor.
By the time Friday rolled around, their schedule was basically the same as Monday's, but since Potions and Herbology had switched times, they were unable to leave early. They were the first to leave, though, as they'd become as adept at taking down their equipment and cleaning up as they were at setting it up.
When they got to the Rook this time, there were two portraits under the curtains. When Harry went to move the curtain off the portrait on the left, they heard a chuckle and someone saying, "Hello, brother." The portrait was astonishing, and calling it a work of art would have been a trivial insult, given it was that, but so much more.
The big surprise, however, came when Harry unveiled the second portrait, as it was an empty room.
Both Luna and Mr Lovegood laughed and invited them to go upstairs. When they reached the next floor they could hear voices on the other side of the Rook. As they got closer, Harry recognised Hermione's voice as it had been when he travelled back in time. She was arguing, shouting, discussing and laughing with a woman who sounded somewhat older than her.
"She and Pan are usually talking shop right around this time. I thought you should meet her in her element," he said, smiling. "Both of them, really.
When the two women in the large portrait that was the only object in the far room saw their visitors, they stopped talking. Pandora Lovegood greeted them effusively and was actually linked arm-in-arm with Hermione, who was beaming, too. Mrs Lovegood looked at Luna and said, "Hey, Luna-moon, would you mind terribly going downstairs for a while? It shouldn't take that long, perhaps a quarter of an hour?"
Luna's face almost looked like it wanted to be stubborn, but then she sighed and nodded. When they heard her reach the first floor, Hermione and Pandora both assumed very serious expressions.
"This isn't the kind of thing Hermione needs to be exposed to, either, but there's no choice," Pandora began without preamble. "Xeno, go get a couple of files about Minister's Specials. Sadly, they're going to be the key to solving some of the problems and mysteries going forward.
A 'Minister's Special' didn't sound that bad. Of course, it was vague enough to be a little ominous, Hermione mused.
"I heard rumours about it from Sirius and Remus," Harry said.
"It's not rumours, but reality," Mr Lovegood said, and looked tired.
Hermione controlled herself and didn't let her growing frustration show on her face.
Portrait Hermione looked at her younger dopple. "Let's not drag this out. A minister's special is when one of your victims resists you, and you pay the Minister a hundred thousand galleons, out of which he pays about a dozen other people. One of the victim's family members is dragged out of the home in the dead of night, usually a teenager or younger minor child. The child is kept overnight in a safe house and beaten. At that point, if the victim is seen as weak or pliable, they get a picture of the child after the beating. They notice a pink tag around one of the child's wrists, which is a sign that they are "eligible for a Minister's Special." Usually, that ends all resistance and the victim runs off, cringing, just glad they still have a child. If the victim is seen as an intractable enemy, or no examples have been made recently, then they don't bother with wizarding photos. They get the Special right away. The child is taken to Azkaban by the minister's most politically reliable Aurors, arrangements are made to have the guards away, and the child is left in an open cell in the most secure area. In the morning, the child's husk is collected and dumped on the doorstep where everyone passing by the residence can see it. Example made."
Mr Lovegood showed Harry and Hermione the clips he'd brought out. "These are just a couple among many dozen. The cause will usually be listed as spell damage from an accident. If you complain, you get a note, a pink note, saying the rest of your family are next. If you persevere, the reliable Aurors suddenly find you endangering the public and irrational, and have to accidentally kill you while you resist arrest. Anyone who tries to bring the subject up, ever, becomes the next victim, for free."
"Our best guess about all the pink is that Dolores started this," Mrs Lovegood added.
"It really would be typical for her," Harry agreed, while Portrait Hermione just nodded, and Hermione felt a little sick. Other than her, no one there looked at all surprised or shocked.
"And we needed to bring this up, why?" she demanded.
"Some of the families think it's more merciful to let the soulless children die, naturally, Hermione," Mrs Lovegood said, her face was serious but sympathetic. "Others disagree and will tend to them for as long as they may."
Harry looked even more baffled than she felt ... which was ... a clue, she realised. And not one she could discuss with Harry right now. She didn't even know if she felt better or worse.
Harry surprised Hermione by asking if there was an empty frame somewhere where he and Portrait Hermione could talk, privately. Mrs Lovegood laughed and told him she, of course, had the run of the house, and if they wanted, they could all meet up downstairs, with her occupying Portrait Hermione's easel.
By the time they reached the first floor and met up with Luna, Hermione thought she heard shouting from the second floor. Fifteen minutes later, Harry came down, looking grimmer than Hermione imagined he could.
"When was someone going to tell me Hermione's literal, actual soul is trapped in that portrait, again?" he demanded without preamble.
"I thought so," Mrs Lovegood answered, thoughtfully. "Don't blame Xeno or Hermione, Harry. They were just being careful. It's unstable having two souls in one body, as you should know very well, your whole life is a testimonial to that. There are a lot worse fates than being in a portrait. What does she say about all this?"
"You thought so?" Harry asked. "Then my question stands. Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Well, I wasn't sure, and I was afraid to ask Luna and be sure. But Hermione just felt like ... more. Like there was so much more, there. It made me question how alive I normally feel."
"As to what I think, I told him some of it," Portrait Hermione said, suddenly appearing next to Mrs Lovegood. "I miss the camaraderie with my younger self a great deal. I really miss the mobility. I don't miss not being able to see anything, having to go through a medium to talk to anyone but Hermione, though. I can now read books, do research. Before we leave, put any books you want me to have in my library in the lower right set of shelves in the Lovegood library. They'll all be added to mine."
"But ... your soul, Hermione!"
"Is safe as houses, and if it's not deliriously happy, it's mostly content. I'm not going slowly mad from boredom or confinement, if that's the issue. I used to say I could live doing nothing but research, and for the most part, that's just a fact."
Still angry, he turned on Hermione. It was very hard to see the small eleven-year-old when he was in this state. "Don't you think it's a bit imbalanced? I mean, I haven't even died yet, and somehow you've activated my portrait. By your logic, shouldn't it be the personality and soul of my younger self in there?"
"I ... no, I don't agree, Harry," Hermione answered, quietly.
"It's fine, and we'll be fine until things sort themselves out, brother." Harry's portrait, quiet until now, spoke up.
"He's right, Harry," Portrait Hermione chimed in. "He and I will be fine until things right themselves. Have faith in me, have faith in all of us."
From the look on his face, faith was as far from his mind as anything could ever be. Panic and betrayal were taking the coachman's seat.
At only eleven years of age, Hermione was being forced to shoulder burdens most adults would baulk at. "This must be exactly like how it was for Harry," she thought. The alternate time-stream Harry and Hermione talked about had seemed halfway to being a fairy tale. Not a very nice one, but also, not very real, nor very near. But, she decided, sometimes, when things were going to be just terrible anyway, you might as well get all the pain out of the way at once.
When Harry was looking around helplessly, but not at her, she took out her wand, gathered her courage, and pointed at him. In a medium voice, but firmly, she said, "STUPEFY!" As he crumpled to the ground, all she could say was "Sorry, Harry."