Hello everyone! I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to update this fic. There are a couple of reasons for that:
1) I have three other fics on the go (it's my own damn fault)
2) I don't know if I've mentioned this before on AO3, but I'm a linguist, so I'm actually con-langing a full, workable language for this fic (yay for immersion!) and it's taking a while! (Tolkien, eat my socks.)
SO, I should actually have two of those fics that I'm currently writing wrapping up very shortly. The other two will be my babies for the forseeable future. As always, thank you so much for your love and support! The faves/reviews/follows are the validation chips that keep this little writing machine chugging. I hope you enjoy this chapter. ;) xx
As soon as it had appeared, the flash of silver was gone. Hermione's heartbeat thundered in her ears as Draco regarded her with the same disdain that she'd expect of a particularly disgusting insect. The silence between them was deafening; she finally managed to regain her senses and look away.
He seemed to take her breaking of eye contact as a victory. Lucius' expression was stormy as he regarded his son, however he held his tongue. Hermione was silently grateful that he didn't intervene on her behalf; it suited her just fine to avoid making an enemy of the Earl.
She was shocked out of her dark thoughts by Slughorn's loud harrumph. "Master Draco, I'll thank you not to bully my apprentice," he said firmly, raising his eyebrow and fixing Draco with a disapproving stare. "She's improving your chances of recovery. An apology is owed to the lady."
"She's no lady-" Draco began, still regarding her with no small measure of condescension. "-And for the last time, I'm not ill-"
"That's enough," Lucius interjected, placing his hands on his desk and glaring at his son. "This introduction has not gone to plan. My greatest apologies, Miss Granger. My son will be making reparations for his behavior. Go, Draco, before you embarrass me further."
The glare that Draco threw at Hermione could have melted glass. She flinched, taking two steps backwards without conscious thought.
Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the room, somehow managing to retain his regal bearing, even though his shirt was torn and his boots were covered in mud.
Hermione let out a long breath as he left, trying to calm her racing heart; the sharp staccato of it pounding against her rib cage made her feel quite faint. "Thank you, Your Grace."
The Duke regarded them with solemn eyes, and she could have sworn that his eyes shone with emotion as he paced towards one of his magnificent bookshelves.
"I'm afraid that I have several matters to attend to this evening. You're dismissed."
Bowing deeply, Slughorn gently towed Hermione from the room. She was relieved that they were allowed to leave. After her disastrous first meeting with the Earl, she wanted to tuck tail and run away as fast as she could. Her palms were still clammy, and all that she wanted to do was hide away with a book.
"Come along, Hermione," Slughorn said brusquely, striding down the corridor and opening a small door. They descended down several winding staircases, up nine others and finally entered the rooms where she assumed that Slughorn tended to his patients. She hadn't realized that they were in a tower, and she gratefully peered out of the beautiful stained glass windows in the main study.
"This is where you work?" She asked quietly, mesmerized by the beauty of the carved wood furnishings and richly panelled walls.
"Yes, you'll be working in here," Slughorn replied distractedly, bustling around the room and gathering several large books into his arms. "Are you well enough to begin work immediately?"
She didn't even think before she responded. "Yes, of course. How can I help?"
"I need an infusion of powdered asphodel and wormwood, the mortar and pestle are on that shelf."
Comforted by his manner (he reminded her of her father), she pulled out the indicated equipment and quickly found the herbs that he'd requested. She made a mental note to peruse his shelves; there were dozens of medicines and powders that she'd never seen before, or even heard of. Without being prompted, she began to grind the requested herbs into a paste, her eyes watering from the fumes of the pungent roots.
Slughorn bustled past her at one point, and she lifted the pestle out of the mortar so that he could inspect her work; he seemed to be pleased. He hurriedly placed a list and a set of directions on the table beside her and left her to finish the medicine. She was more than happy to sit and grind the mixture; it allowed her to think.
The doctor began to hum softly as he worked, putting the end of a quill between his teeth as he researched in his many medical volumes. At his request, she added more herbs to her concoction, mentally reciting their uses.
Echinacea, hmm, he's probably using that to fight an illness of the blood? Infection doesn't seem likely, but his personality change was so drastic that I suppose it's an option. Elderberry is common, good for swelling. I think his pride is the only thing that's bruised, but it can't hurt. I've mixed in honey, for a disinfectant, catnip for stress relief, and huckleberries for strength against any further illness.
I've never heard of wormwood or asphodel, but if Horace is using them, they're likely to be powerful plants, she though distractedly, using a spoon to finish the mixture and inspecting the green sludge with a critical eye. She was tempted to taste it, but then thought better of it and added a few extra spoonfuls of honey. Given the smell of the concoction, she thought that the Earl at least deserved a palatable medicine; it didn't really matter what she thought of him.
He shouldn't have to taste something that smells like cat sick.
"He may be a miserable, cocky, sodden toe-rag, but he's a patient, so you're going to treat him with respect," she told herself firmly, realizing too late that she'd been thinking aloud. Slughorn looked up from his books and surveyed her over the thick reading spectacles that he was wearing. She expected a stern rebuke, but he simply chuckled and gestured for her to bring the medicine over to him for his inspection.
"Well, how did you find working with my herbs?" He asked, his eye twinkling. She smiled, shrugging and crossing her arms. "Most of them are familiar to me, but the-"
"Wormwood and asphodel, yes, I thought that they might be new. I would be shocked if you had seen them before. I had them brought in from Italy, dreadfully expensive to obtain you know, but I find that they are the most potent sleep drug I've found in my many years of study."
Hermione was intensely grateful that she hadn't tasted the mixture. "Forgive my many questions, but why are we drugging the Earl?"
"You wouldn't welcome eight hours of peace and quiet?" He replied, chuckling at the shocked look that crossed over her face before she was able to rearrange her features into one of polite interest. "My most productive hours of the day are when he's knocked out cold."
"Ah," was all that she could think of to say.
"All in jest, Hermione, I assure you. The Earl has been suffering from severe insomnia, he has next to no chance of recovery if his body isn't given a chance to recuperate," Slughorn said jovially, inspecting her work and nodding with approval. "Very well done. The honey is a nice touch. I'll be sure to mention that to young Draco when I administer the medicine."
Hermione blushed at the praise, looking away with embarrassment. "I've had a lot of practice."
"It is excellent, truly excellent," he muttered, carefully pouring the green goo into a small jar with a golden lid and clasp. "You are free to spend the rest of the day as you choose-"
"Can I peruse your library?" She asked immediately, clapping a hand over her mouth as she flushed with shame; it wasn't a good look to constantly interrupt her teacher.
He nodded, his eyebrows shooting upwards and his moustache rustling. "Of course. I keep my most interesting books in that room."
He indicated a small reading nook to her left that housed the most ancient books in his collection. "You're welcome to read any volume that you choose, but be warned, some of them have a bit of bite to them," he added cryptically, bustling out of his rooms with a wink and a smile.
Hermione decided that she was going to have to devote some time trying to figure him out. Every time she thought that she had his personality pinned down, he would do something that reminded her of Father Albus, and she'd have to start all over again.
Hermione watched him go, still trying to sift through the confusing myriad of emotions that she felt. Now that she was alone, she needed to try and figure out how she was going to survive at court.
Firstly, she knew that the Earl was a lost cause; he clearly didn't think that she was worth the dirt that he trod upon, which was just fine with her. It was easier to hate him outright than to admit that she'd found him very good-looking. His personality certainly knocked him down several notches, as far as she was concerned. Anyone who walked around looking like they'd smelled something foul didn't do their looks any favors.
She was slightly offended that he'd treated her with such disrespect, but she also knew that she was out of her league. Draco Malfoy was far too important in the grand scheme of things to pay any attention to the peasants who were only around to see to his every need.
It's not my fault that he's such a tosser, she decided firmly, inspecting the shelves in Slughorn's library.
Secondly, the Duke seemed to care very deeply for his son, which was something that intrigued her. She didn't have any experience with nobility, but her books on etiquette had certainly not shied away from mentioning that there was often a severe disconnect between young nobles and their parents.
Thirdly, she was annoyed at Father Albus. He could have told me sooner about Lord Draco. I feel as if I've been caught flat-footed.
Her thoughts were interrupted as she accidentally gave herself a large and nasty paper cut as she absentmindedly flipped through a large book that looked to be bound with deerskin. She hurriedly stuck her thumb in her mouth, tasting the iron tang of her blood as she flipped the book over to reveal the title embossed on the front page.
"The Monster Book of Monsters?" She read aloud, her brow furrowing in confusion. She laughed suddenly, inspecting her cut and re-shelving the book. "Horace did say that some of the books might bite. How ironic-"
She'd caught sight of several of the other book spines, and it took her a moment to recover from her shock.
She took a moment to scan over the titles on the shelf in front of her, steadily growing more confused by the second. Apparently, her new teacher had a vested interest in the occult. Hermione felt a flicker of fear wind into her veins as she realized what she was looking at.
"Deciphering Demons"
"The Patterns of the Damned: Practices of Magyck"
"Water, Fyre, and Earth Magyck"
Horace Slughorn either had a very poorly kept secret, or he had a passion for books that were better left unread. Despite her instincts screaming at her that it was a terrible idea, she picked a book at random from the shelves. Her rabid curiosity overrode any of her hesitation; if the court mediker had these books out for display, surely there was nothing wrong with her reading through them?
It's not like she was going to do anything with the knowledge nestled within the pages of these books. They're nonsense and superstitious drivel, she told herself, trying her hardest to believe what she was saying. No one in their right mind would write anything about magic that could actually be used by someone who is cursed like me. Cursed or not, you're not a witch, or a wiccan.
The book opened easily, cracking open to a page that featured a beautifully illustrated woman standing on the surface of a pool of water. Hermione didn't even notice that she'd sunk to the floor; she was too absorbed in her reading.
"Pagan rituals, often the basis for modern, civilized holidays, draw their supposed power from the elements. Those are, but not limited to, earth, air, fyre, water, and the spirit. One should not begrudge the worship of the spirit; however any of the other so-called "divine" elements are a mockery of faith."
Hermione let out an unladylike snort as she read; clearly the author didn't think particularly highly of the ancient pagans. She continued to read, her fear and anxiety ebbing away as she threw herself into research.
"Magyk in this sense is used for wicked deeds. Only a wytch would stand unclothed in the light of the moon and offer her soul to a silver-tongued devil. These creatures are summoned by moonlight and desperation; their only purpose is to obtain that which its victim holds most dear. The wishes that they grant always come with a nasty price. Naturally, such stories are pure hogwash, but nevertheless, one should be warned of them."
Hermione's heartbeat quickened as she read over the last sentence on the page, thinking back to her own experience in the woods. Silver-tongued was a good way to describe a fae. She flipped back to the front of the book, searching for the name of the author.
"Nicholas Flamel," she murmured, tapping her finger in thought against the binding of the book. "How do you know so much?"
She continued to read, growing more and more interested in the subject of the occult as she devoured book after book. After she'd denied her curiosity for so long, it felt indescribably good to be able to learn about the one thing that she feared above all else. Hermione told herself that she was only trying to learn how to get herself out of the curse that had been cast upon her, but it was far more than that.
She would do it in secret, but she was going to find every last shred of information that she could about the fae.
If she understood her enemy, she could destroy it.
She only looked up from her reading as the sun dipped below the trees, her eyes aching from straining to read in the dark. Reluctantly, Hermione replaced the tome that she'd been reading (Creatures of the Orient: A Study in Dragon Lore) and made her way through the semi-darkness towards the door. She peered out into the hallway, relieved to see a scullery maid walking past.
"Excuse me, I'm terribly sorry to bother you. I'm Master Slughorn's new student, I was wondering if you could direct me to my room?" She asked, suddenly struck with an uncharacteristic shyness.
It didn't help that the girl looked her up and down and then scrunched her face into an expression that could only mean one thing; Hermione was an inconvenience. "I'll take you."
"Thank you," Hermione replied gratefully, fighting down the urge to roll her eyes as the maid turned on her heel with a huff and stomped back the way that she had come, her messy braids flying as she bustled down the nine flights of stairs that had led to the tower.
Hermione had to struggle to keep up, partly because she didn't know her way around, and partly because there were only torch sconces every twenty feet. She also suspected that the maid wouldn't be too upset if Hermione happened to get lost.
Finally, they came to a stop in front of a large wooden door, and Hermione thanked the grumpy girl. The maid was already out of sight.
Hermione turned the door handle, suddenly absolutely exhausted. Between the events of the last several hours and three days with little sleep, she was knackered.
She fell asleep on the straw-packed bed, still fully clothed, and with her shoes still on.
A breeze picked up, sending a flutter of leaves across the calm surface of the pond where she stood. Ripples radiated out from their points of contact, and she found herself mesmerized by the shimmering water. Images rose to the surface unbidden as she watched. She saw strange things reflected in the liquid, flickering and moving like candlelight.
Bright green eyes peering at her around a doorway, a flash of fire burning through a house with a thatched roof, and a snake, twining itself around the arm of a man with skin so pale that he almost glowed.
Her own face swam beneath the water, but it wasn't quite right. The woman under the water was transparent and glowing with blue light. A huge, muscular tail flicked out behind the creature, making Hermione's eyes widen. That's not me.
She could have sworn that she heard drums, pulsing to the frantic beating of her heart.
The strange being that looked like Hermione opened her mouth, but no air bubbles came out. Hermione checked to make sure that she was still breathing.
She suddenly heard her voice coming from beneath the surface of the water, disembodied and distorted as the sound waves traveled through the liquid silver of the pond. A shiver ran down the length of her spine as she processed what the apparition was saying. She dropped to her knees, straining to hear what the strangely beautiful selkie-like creature said.
"Beware the man who does not fear the shattering of that which is immortal," the voice whispered, croaking out a warning. "Beware the hollow-hearted man."
Hermione had to look away from the shining water with a gasp of pain, throwing her hand up to her eyes, which had begun to throb like she had looked directly at the sun for too long. She fought to catch her breath, wiping tears from her face. I didn't know that I was crying, she thought with some confusion, finally daring to dart a glance back at the surface of the water. What on earth was that?
It was calm and still like glass once more, and she relaxed slightly. The breeze returned, rustling through her hair and bringing with it the warm scent of cinnamon. This was a dream, she had nothing to fear. Strange things happened all the time. None of it was real. She stood up, looking around her at the dreamscape. All was well.
She took a deep breath, reveling in the spiced air, angling her head back to look at the giant moon-
Cinnamon.
She stiffened, whirling to look behind her as the scent intensified, overwhelming her senses and making her dizzy. Her heart leapt into her throat as she realized what she was seeing.
The fae watched her calmly from the lip of the pond, his beautiful features glowing in the light of the full moon. He seemed to take amusement from her terror, and he reached out one long-fingered hand and lazily tapped the surface of the water, freezing it instantly.
Hermione couldn't move.
Wake up, wake up, wake up! She chanted silently, unable to speak as he stood up and stepped towards her, his diamond skin shimmering.
"Hello, Hermione," he murmured, stopping ten paces from her and surveying her with his ancient eyes.
Stay away from me!
"It's past time when we should have had a chat. It appears that you're using magic accidentally now. Not bad, for a human."
I just read about it! I didn't do anything wrong!
His lip curled at his last statement, every single one of his words dripping with derision. She bristled at his casual dismissal of her kind, and she crossed her arms, breaking her stupor. "What does that mean?"
He looked at her like she was an idiot. "You were scrying. How typical, you don't even know what you can do with your gift."
"It's not a gift," she snarled, fighting to get free of the ice that bound her to the surface of the pond. "It's a curse, and I wasn't scrying! I don't even know what that is!"
"Liar. You're oddly stubborn, even for a ma'helb'eha."
He breathed the foreign word in a language that was both musical and cruel. Hermione shivered, knowing full well that he'd used his own tongue to describe her kind. She doubted that the translation was flattering.
"What..?"
He raised an eyebrow, his dark expression softening slightly. "You're ungrateful. But I'm impressed with your refusal to submit to my call."
It was her turn to look at him like he was an idiot. Her fear had been replaced by hatred, and it fueled her ability to ignore the silvery sound of his voice. She knew better than to let herself get drawn in.
"You didn't call me anywhere, I've never returned to the woods."
"Of course I did. I don't usually need to pull humans back to the forest; it's unusual to be able to resist fae dreams. Most of your kind would have begged for mercy by now."
She knew exactly what kind of dreams he was talking about. "You're the reason for the nightmares."
"Obviously," he muttered, crossing his arms and glaring at her. It was the most human gesture she'd seen from him. "Perhaps it's time to try a different tactic."
"What, are you going to kill me?" She demanded, adrenaline spiking in her veins as she fought to free herself from the ice that still trapped her feet. She was so anxious to get out that she didn't even notice that the ice didn't freeze or burn her skin from the cold.
Apparently the fae just wanted to talk.
"No. As much as I'd like to, killing you won't fix my problem," he drawled, looking at her through his sooty eyelashes. "That would be too easy."
"Then what do you want?!" She hated the note of panic that bled into her voice, and she fought to stop her body from trembling as he stepped closer. "I'm not giving up my soul."
He didn't respond for a moment, just watched her with narrowed eyes. "I don't want it. I'm proposing a different kind of deal."
A bitter laugh flew out of her lips as she redoubled her efforts to break free. "I'm never taking another deal from you-"
"Shut up and listen," he hissed, stepping closer to her. She was overwhelmed with the scent of cinnamon and musk, and she had to fight to concentrate. "I'm trapped, same as you. You didn't complete your end of the bargain and now I'm paying for it."
"What does that mean?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, clearly searching for calm. "It means, you stupid human, that I don't have control over my magic until you finish what you started."
She didn't answer, too confused to come up with a response.
"I'll spell it out for you," he continued, pacing back and forth in front of her. "You stole the magic that I can use in the human world. I can't get back to the Seelie realm until I get it back, understood? You shattered the natural order, and now I'm stuck in this shithole of a dimension."
"How is that possible..?" She whispered, frightened by the fact that she may have doomed this beautiful creature. "You're not human."
"Astute, aren't you. I can't sustain myself in this world without my magic, so I had to make another deal," he continued, his eyes alight with fury as he whirled to face her.
"But you can't leave a circle," she started, her eyes narrowing, "You were trapped in there, that's why you couldn't-"
"Correct. I used the last of my power to lure some idiot lordling to me."
She hated how casually he spoke the words, as if that young man's life had meant nothing. "But I summoned you outside of Ashwood. We're in Sussex-"
He laughed, cold and cruel. "You honestly think that I can't travel to and from any circle that I choose?"
That doesn't explain-wait!
"You took over the young man's body. You can leave the circle as a human," Hermione whispered, finally cluing in. "You have to generate magic another way. You're the reason that the Duke's son is ill! I knew it!"
"He's not ill," he snapped, his eyes glinting like shards of diamond in the moonlight. "The boy wanted a different kind of life, so we made a trade. He's now a happy blacksmith in Scotland, and I got out. His body is weak, but it will do for now."
"So he's not ill, and you're just trying to get back to your home," Hermione said slowly, still unsure. Her quick mind whirred, warning her not to trust him.
"Finally, you're catching on," he muttered, glancing over at her as he began to pace once more. "Earth magic is different than the kind of magic that I can generate in the Seelie realm. It's powerful in its own way, but it's not enough to send me back. Trinkets, small favors, they sustain me."
"How?"
"I take my payment and gain some more time. Every deal gets me closer to power that I can use. No thanks to you," he said waspishly, glaring at her. She was too busy thinking to notice.
"That's why you've been going to brothels and gambling dens," Hermione breathed, thinking hard. Her terror was forgotten, replaced by avid curiosity. "You're making deals."
"Desperate humans make desperate wishes," he confirmed, leaning closer to her. He was so close that she could see flecks of pure silver in his shining eyes. "If you find a way to get me back home, you can keep your power. I'm amending our deal."
"How? I don't know anything about magic!"
He made a small sound of derision, waving his hand at the pond. "Clearly you do. Figure out how to use the magic that you stole. You wanted knowledge, find it."
She didn't respond for a moment, her mind whirring over what was happening. "If I take this deal, you'll stop tormenting me? You'll let me go once I free you?"
"Yes."
"Swear it," she demanded, not stupid enough to trust him. "How do I know that you're not lying to me?"
He laughed, the sound ringing through the air like bells. She fought down a shiver as he stepped closer to her.
"Do you think that you have the moral high ground here, oathbreaker?" He purred, his voice deepening.
She felt her pulse hammering in her chest, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers. He raised his cool hand and laid it over her collarbone, murmuring something that sounded like a wind chime. She could feel the slight warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of her nightgown, but she wasn't afraid. The thought of a man touching her like this should have sent her screaming into the night, but this was different. It was a ritual.
Besides, he needed her alive.
Hermione felt her body tensing as taut as a bowstring as he leaned down and whispered something in her ear.
"So'el carð e'elmeɫ jaema," he murmured. "Gwaeð, undaið, ðes'ka, ðunj'a'a, saet'nae'."
She felt his promise ripple through her skin, reacting to something ancient in her blood.
I swear it by the sun and the moon's light, by the earth and the flame; I forge my promise from starlight and bitter iron.
The language that he used once again wasn't human. It sounded like trickling water and rustling leaves, and she felt her body relaxing at the sound. It spoke to something within her that she wasn't aware existed; it was a promise and an oath.
He finally stepped away, leaving her with hazy eyes and a woozy mind. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and she hurriedly closed her mouth; her lips had parted as a sigh left her body.
"Fae can't lie," he said cryptically, waving a hand and defrosting the ice that trapped her on the surface of the pond. "Our new bargain is struck. You know my name now, use it wisely."
She didn't even have enough rational thought left to force a response. He smirked, suddenly looking an awful lot like the handsome man whose body he'd bargained for. "Oh, and by the way, Draco had a little bit of fae magic in him to start with. I won't remember who you are or our deal unless the moon is out."
"What?!"
"Let's think of it as payback," he murmured, mirth glinting in his silver eyes. "I can't make it too easy for you, can I? You've made my life hell, it's time you worked to earn my forgiveness."
"That's not fair!" She argued hotly, stepping towards him.
"Goodnight, Hermione. Hold your breath."
Huh?
He turned on his heel, striding away into the rapidly darkening dreamscape. Just before he melted away into the darkness, he turned and lazily flicked his hand out towards the pond where she was still standing, frozen.
Hermione caught a split second of his striking features before he disappeared and she plunged into the frigid water.