A/N: Hello everyone! I'm so sorry that it's taken me this long to update. Just a couple of things before you read the chapter:
1. I know that Hagrid isn't Scottish, but I haven't planned to have giants in this world, so an exceedingly large Highlander is the next best thing (you should see the size of my cousins)! Also, that accounts for the way that he's treated by the nobility, as you will find out in the next chapters.
2. Also, I unfortunately won't be able to update for a next few weeks, potentially a month. I'll be travelling during that time and won't have my laptop with me. However, I'll still be writing the good-old fashioned way, so more content is absolutely coming along.
As always, thank you so much for your support as I bumble through this story. It means the world to me! :) xx
Hermione's eyes snapped open and she let out a trembling breath. She was cold, and wet? She sat up gingerly, realizing with no small measure of shock that she was outside, in the gardens of the Duke's palace.
She was soaked through, completely covered in dew. Beside her lay the pond from her dream, surrounded by lavishly pruned trees and marble walkways. Her chest rose and fell with frantic breaths as she stared up at the full moon above her, still too confused and frightened to think properly.
She propped herself up on one elbow, looking everywhere for the damned fae. She suspected that this was his doing. If she hadn't been half-frozen, she might have laughed at the prank.
There was something sinister about this place, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
Knowing what that creature's capable of, you might still be in a dream.
The thought sent a bolt of pure fear shooting through her veins. He'd promised not to hurt her, but he hadn't promised that he would be kind.
Gingerly, she reached out and touched the surface of the perfectly still pond water, breathing a gasp of surprise and relief as her hand slid straight through the surface; there was no magic here. Her face loomed into view as she peered into the mere; she grimaced as her reflection exhibited her mess of curls and brightly flushed face.
To her great relief, she was still fully clothed, but that certainly didn't ease her concern. The fact that she had somehow ended up here without her knowledge was disconcerting, to say the least.
"How did I get out here?" She asked herself softly, trying to breathe deeply and dissuade the panic that threatened to rise up out of her stomach. Her mind flashed back to her dream and her stomach flip flopped uncomfortably.
I just accepted a new deal. She snuck another glance up at the moon, remembering what the fae had promised her. I get my freedom as soon as I get him his. But how in the hell am I going to do that?! What kind of a dream was that? It wasn't quite a nightmare, but it wasn't pleasant either.
She let out a strangled groan of frustration as she forced her cold limbs to move, walking unsteadily on numb legs back towards the palace. She kept up a solid string of curses as she walked, her irritation keeping her warm as she strode up a side staircase. The slap of her bare feet on the stone of the hallways only fueled her irritation.
Her mind whirred, trying to wring every last ounce of logic out of her strange half-dream; the fae had said that she now knew his name. Names held power. Names could be used to weave a trap that could guarantee her freedom.
That could be useful. I just have to figure out what the damn word is and how to use it, she thought grumpily, trying to navigate her way back to her little room. It took her nearly an hour, but she finally found it.
She used a torch from the corridor to light a small piece of kindling that she'd pulled from the bunch, lighting a small candle that she'd found on the side table in her room. Now that she could see it, it was reasonably roomy and had a small fireplace in one corner. She made a mental note to thank the good doctor for his generosity.
She settled onto her bed with a sigh, thinking hard. There was no way that she could sleep now, knowing that she hadn't succeeded in running away from the fae.
She tapped her fingers nervously on her knees, trying to decipher the confusing mixture of emotions that swirled within her. Hermione fought to ignore the fact that a large piece of that emotional tangle was guilt. He might be a cruel, awful creature, but it's my fault that he's stuck here.
She flopped onto her back with a groan, trying to reconcile her guilt over the situation with how she felt about the fae. She could easily isolate that a large portion was also fear; she was flirting with death by even considering helping him. A flicker of excitement bloomed in her chest as she considered the possibility of what he said; she could do magic.
Wait, what? Hermione, what are you doing?!
She let out a soft sound that was half a laugh and half a sob. Here she was, stuck in some sort of strange, half-correct fairy tale, entirely of her own design.
"All of this confusion, because of some sort of stupid dream?" She demanded, shaking her head furiously and trying to punch down her rioting thoughts.
It's not real. This whole thing isn't real. Draco Malfoy happens to look a little bit like that creature from the woods and now you're dreaming that he needs you to save his life? Clearly, I should never have read that epic poem that Ginny lent me before I left home.
"Hermione Granger, you are here to learn. You had a strange dream, and you learned that you can sleepwalk. That's it. Now, you are going to go to bed, and you are going to throw yourself into your studies."
When she talked to herself like that, she almost believed the words. And so, with a sigh, she undressed and put on her nightgown. As she snuggled under the covers, she told herself one last time that she had only had a strange dream.
She blew out the candle with another big sigh.
Dreams didn't mean anything.
Dawn swept in with absolutely no warning. Hermione was startled awake by the sound of thundering footsteps above her little room. She lay in the dark for a moment, slightly panicked because she had completely forgotten where she was. She very nearly jumped a foot in the air as the door to her room suddenly weathered an enormous, authoritative knock.
She hurriedly sat up and shrugged into a thick overrobe of warm wool, frantically trying to smooth her hair down. She fumbled in the dark for the lock and opened the door a crack.
"Hello..?" Hermione said hesitantly, still feeling extremely discombobulated by her rude awakening.
"Ah, good mornin' Miss," came a rumbled reply. All that she could see in the bright morning sunlight that streamed in from a nearby window was a humongous, dark beard. Her gaze widened as she opened the door a little more. The beard was attached to the largest man that she had ever seen, and she smothered a tiny gasp.
He's got to be a giant!
"Well now, don't tell me ye've never seen a Highlander before," the giant chuckled; his dark eyes twinkled merrily at her flabbergasted expression.
"I-I ,uh, well unfortunately I haven't had the pleasure," she mumbled weakly, her own expression breaking out into a shy smile as he presented her with a large, steaming bun wrapped in a handkerchief the size of a wimple.
"I'm sorry to startle ye," he continued, nodding encouragingly as she took it. "Master Slughorn felt I should be givin' you a tour of the grounds. Pleased to make yer acquaintance. The name is Rubeus Hagrid."
"You're the gameskeeper!" She exclaimed, sighing happily as she took a large bite of the warm bread. It was delicious, and she eagerly took another, and another. She hadn't eaten since the she and Father Albus had taken a small break to picnic the day previously; she was ravenous.
"Aye, I am."
Slughorn's letters had mentioned the grounds keeper; he'd made a point to tell her that he was going to be a very useful resource for the court's physiker. Hermione had completely forgotten that she was scheduled to spend some time learning about the court and the plants that grew around the castle.
She would be in charge of running errands and fetching ingredients for medicine as well, so it was crucial that she knew her way. However, Slughorn had neglected to mention the man's stature, and she suspected that he would have a good chuckle at her expense when Hagrid's description of their first meeting was relayed to him.
Idly, she wondered if Father Albus knew about Slughorn's little joke. As far as pranks went, it was quite innocent, and so she settled on feeling amused about the whole thing. Besides, she had bread, and that meant that she was going to be in quite a good mood until she'd finished inhaling her breakfast.
She'd barely finished that thought when another steaming bun was suddenly presented to her. She looked up in surprise as Hagrid smiled gently, brandishing the second roll. That's when she noticed that his large coat had tiny pockets sown all over it; if she had one like that, she could easily be a walking apothecary.
The thought made her smile as she accepted the food.
"I'll give ye a moment to get dressed, and then we'll take a walk about. I'll show ye where you'll need to find your herbs and such," he thundered, inclining his head gently at the fact that she was still wearing a large maroon overrobe over her nightgown.
"Oh! Bugger!" She exclaimed, fleeing back inside her room, realizing too late that for one, she couldn't' see in the dark, and two, Hagrid apparently found it very amusing that she wasn't above cursing so early in the morning.
His chuckle boomed thought the crack between her door and the wall, and she quickly smothered her grin.
Ron would find this hilarious.
At the thought of her best friend, she felt a flash of homesickness. It was with great effort that she forced herself to focus. Now wasn't the time to be melancholic. She'd left for a reason, and she was going to learn everything that she could while she was at the Duke's court.
With that being said, she silently vowed to never open her door again unless she was fully clothed. That meant petticoats, a shift, full skirt, and cloak. She could never feel embarrassed if she dressed like a nun.
A nun would never be caught dead out in the gardens at night in nothing but her nightgown, she thought grumpily, hurriedly fumbling around in the dark for her warmest dress. Her hands finally scrabbled over some soft, thin fabric, and she shuffled it aside with a sigh; she wasn't looking for a linen dress.
Unbidden, her thoughts wandered towards Draco Malfoy and his torn blouse. She had never seen a man in such a state before, and it was with some shame that she admitted to herself that her heartbeat had accelerated at the sight.
If I were home, and he wasn't such an obnoxious prat, I might try my luck, she mused. Her jaw dropped in horror when she realized that she was entertaining lewd thoughts about the Duke's ill son.
She blushed furiously, reminding herself firmly that she wasn't in Ashwood anymore.
I've already broken so many rules that it's a miracle that I haven't already been sent packing, she thought with a groan, turning her attention to relighting her candle. Hermione felt a small smile light up her face as she strode to the door and stuck the small piece of wood that she'd used the night before to light her candle out of the gap.
"I'm terribly sorry, I don't have a window in here," she began, noticing with some surprise that Hagrid didn't seem bothered in the slightest. He delicately plucked the piece of kindling out of her hand and was back in a few seconds; the top of the small stick sputtered brightly as she eased it back inside the room.
"Thank you!"
"It wasn't a trouble," Hagrid replied, courteously waiting as she once again closed the door all of the way, however, this time she had a light. She gently blew on the rapidly dying flame, coaxing it back to life and using it to light the end of her candle. The wick finally caught alight, and she let out a long sigh.
She hadn't considered that sighing with that much force would put her small candle out, and she swore anew as she relit it with the still glowing taper.
She hurriedly dressed, smoothing her hair into a thick, intricate braid and blowing the candle out as she left. As she closed the door, she finally got a good look at Hagrid.
"Blimey," she breathed, her face lighting up once more into a smile as she took in the sight of him. "I imagine that the doorways aren't convenient for you."
"No, they are not," he chuckled, leading her down a set of stairs that she'd stumbled up the night before, quickly emerging into the bright morning light. Hermione blinked furiously and put a hand in front of her face to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight that already beat mercilessly against the stone of the keep.
"Miss Granger, the gardens are that way," he boomed, pointing with his giant hand towards the western side of the keep. "That's where I'll be takin' ye first."
"Call me Hermione, please," she panted, smiling weakly as she struggled to control her breathing as they strode quickly across the grounds towards the upper keep.
"All right, Hermione. Mind the steps now, it gets a wee bit slippy with the dew," he replied, his pace not slowing for a second as he tromped up a large set of beautifully carved stone steps.
She smothered a groan. It was hard enough walking across flat ground with the giant man, never mind trying to maintain his pace on an upwards path. Setting her jaw, she forced herself to move; she was also trying to ignore the way that her stomach felt like it was full of bricks.
I never should have eaten that second bun.
She had to work very hard to keep up with Hagrid, trying to ignore the way that her breath puffed out of her lungs and her skirts kept getting in the way. She determinedly dogged at his heels, gratefully slowing to a stop as he led her towards the kitchen gardens. He casually returned the greetings of the many castle staff who called out their hellos, and it finally struck Hermione that he was doing her a big favor. He pointed out all of the crops in turn, and she forced her tired brain to commit them to memory.
"And that is the potato garden. Any questions yet, lass?" He finished, glancing cheerily at her out of the corner of his eye. "We nearly lost a whole crop last year. The flobberworms were a problem."
"No. Thank you, sir," she said quietly, lacing her fingers together and smiling shyly at the cheerful giant.
"Why are ye thanking me..?" Hagrid asked slowly, confusion written all over his jolly face.
"You took the time to show me the around, and I know that you must be busy-"
"Hermione, I'm not a lord," he rumbled, his rosy cheeks the only clue that he was affected by the cold. "Ye don't need to apologize for not knowin' your way around. I offered to help ye cause I know what it's like to be an outsider here."
Her cheeks pinked and she smiled. "I appreciate it."
"No need to be so formal," he said gently, opening a large wooden fence with no effort. Hermione's eyes widened as he replaced the giant crossbar that sealed the area with ease. She knew that she would never be able to lift that by herself, never mind with one hand.
Bloody hell. I'm glad that he seems to be the gentle sort. I'd hate to get on his bad side.
"Can I ask you some frank questions, Mr. Rubeus?"
"Call me Hagrid. I was wonderin' when ye'd get to those," he chuckled, waving one huge hand for her to go ahead as he fed chickens with a bucket that was the size of a small pond. "Master Slughorn mentioned that ye be the curious sort."
"How long have you been here?"
"Fifteen years by my count," was the rumbled reply, slightly muffled by the sound of frantically flapping wings and indignant squawking from the chickens that fought over the feed that he generously threw out over the yard.
"So you're well accustomed to the Duke's family?" She asked carefully, hoping that he would clue in to what she was asking. To her great relief, he did.
"Ah. Ye've met our grand lord, have ye?"
"Are we talking about the Earl or the Duke?" She asked quietly, looking around frantically to make sure that no one was eavesdropping.
"Draco, of course."
The name sounded exceedingly pleasant in his rumbling, Scottish burr, and Hermione found herself nodding conspiratorially as he turned his attention back to the frantically milling chickens.
"I met him yesterday. He's rather…spirited."
"The Earl hasn't always been such an insufferable git," Hagrid said casually, grinning into his beard as she smothered a surprised hoot of laughter. His rolling accent made his words so much funnier; she was suddenly very glad that she'd met him. She had a feeling that they would get along famously.
She managed to turn her laugh into a cough instead, looking at him out of the corner of her eye as he launched another catapult-sized bucketful of feed into the chicken coop.
"Do you have any advice? I'm afraid that he's already decided that he hates me," she said mournfully, absentmindedly waving away two hens who had wandered over to her in the hopes that she would feed them. "It doesn't help that I've been assigned to help him with his…illness."
"Don't ye mind him, he's all bark an' no bite," Hagrid rumbled, striding out of the enclosure to the neighbouring fenced area. Hermione was taken aback by the sheer number of goats that milled about; they grazed on the remnants of what must have been a lush lawn in ages past.
"I'm not so sure about that," she muttered, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and nearly jumping in surprise when he brandished a regular sized bucket at her.
"Ye may think that he hates ye, but I hope ye'll be pleased to know that he's been treatin' everyone he meets like a sackful o' dung," he replied, nodding encouragingly as she took the offered bucket. "Go ahead an' feed the ladies; they'll like ye."
"How very charming," she replied dryly, eyeing the goats with confidence. She knew her way around bovids; her father had three. Plus, she'd read a lot about domesticated animals. In theory, they were easy to take care of.
"He's not a bad lad, once ye get past the attitude," Hagrid rumbled, watching with satisfaction as she fed the goats with ease. "Yer a strong lass, it'll take time, but ye'll have him back to polite soon enough."
She glanced over her shoulder at him, just in time to see him wink and turn away, striding purposefully towards yet another enclosure. Hermione finished feeding the goats, and as soon as she was able to pry her cloak out of the mouth of a particularly enthusiastic nanny, she hurried after him.
"There's still more? How large are the grounds?" She asked with wonder, looking back over her shoulder at the rapidly shrinking keep behind them as they strode towards the forest that she'd passed through the day before.
The sun was steadily creeping higher in the sky; by Hermione's guess, they'd been touring the grounds for at least three hours. Her legs agreed with her calculations; they were starting to cramp.
"Dunno, they get bigger with every passin' year," Hagrid replied, waving a huge hand towards the final paddock. "Here ye are, take a look at the pride and joy o' the Duke of Sussex."
Her jaw dropped as she took in the vision of the Duke's horses. The ground began to shake as the magnificent creatures saw Hagrid come striding over the hill. The sound of their neighing and braying was startlingly loud, and she had to remind herself how to breathe as they thundered past, the ground rumbling under the force of their hooves.
Hermione glanced over at Hagrid and felt her lips curling up into a grin as she caught sight of the look on his face. He looked positively gooey at the sight of the horses. She turned back to the creatures, surprised to note that he wasn't staring at the horses, but at the enormous woman astride the most beautiful stallion that she'd ever seen.
The giantess dismounted smoothly, and Hermione caught several murmured words in French as the woman patted the stallion on the nose and strode towards them, her cloak flapping around her ankles as she cut a path through the morning dew.
"Mornin' Olympe," Hagrid said gruffly, sinking into a sort of clumsy half bow as she got closer. Hermione noticed with some delight that he'd produced a rose out of one of his many pockets. She also noticed that he'd started to frantically pat down his explosive head of hair.
The look on his face was strangely reminiscent of an eager stableboy, and Hermione bobbed a quick curtsy, in awe of both this woman's size and her effect on Hagrid.
"Ah, 'Agrid," the woman murmured, her expression softening as she greeted them. "You 'ave cared for ze mounts most splendidly. You 'ave my thanks. I was not expecting to be away so long."
"It weren't no trouble," Hagrid rumbled, his cheeks pinking at the praise. "How are ye?"
"Very well, thank you," the giantess purred, turning her attention at last to Hermione. "And who is zis charming little creature?"
Hermione fought to keep her expression neutral as the enormous woman inspected her; her expression wasn't unkind, but she couldn't help but feel that she was being judged quite thoroughly.
"This is Hermione Granger, she's Slughorn's apprentice."
"Welcome, mademoiselle," Olympe said formally, her eyes twinkling as she smiled down at Hermione. "You are welcome to visit ze horses anytime zat you like, I would welcome ze company."
"Olympe is the stable master," Hagrid supplied helpfully, puffing up slightly as Olympe's attention returned to him. "Ye won't find a finer horse master in all of Europe."
"Thank you," Hermione said gratefully; she loved to ride horses, and had already missed the exercise since she'd left home. Hermes had been a stable presence in her life for years, and although she didn't miss smelling of horse, there was something intensely comforting about a horse's affections.
Without realizing it, she had been staring at the stallion. He was favouring his back left gaskin, she noticed with some surprise, and was standing slightly tilted to the right hand side.
Hm. Perhaps he's got an aggravated injury? It doesn't seem to be painful, but it must be uncomfortable if he's standing like that.
"May I take a closer look at your mount?"
"Of course," Olympe replied, stepping closer to Hagrid, much to his pleasure. Although most of his face was covered by his impressive beard, what was visible was a vibrant shade of pink.
Hermione glanced at Hagrid for permission, and as soon as he nodded at her encouragingly, she slowly made her way towards the huge animal. She could see out of the corner of her eye that Hagrid had rather shyly presented Olympe with the rose, and the corners of her mouth ticked up into a smile as she heard soft French exclamations of delight in response to the gift.
I wonder if he wanted to see the horses, or if it was an excuse to see her?
As she got closer, the stallion huffed at her. She paused before narrowing her eyes at him and stepping forwards with more confidence. He stared at her out of the corner of his eye, clearly unsure whether or not to trust her. She put a slow, gentle hand out in front of her and eased forwards until her palm was nestled against his soft, warm nose. His breath puffed out between her fingers, and she withdrew her hand slightly as he smelled her.
Apparently, whatever he found was enough to satisfy his curiosity, and he nickered quietly and stepped closer to her.
He lipped gently at her sleeve as she murmured soft sounds of encouragement. She sighed in relief as he allowed her to scratch his neck and smooth her fingers over his ears. Up close, he was even larger than she'd thought; he was at least eighteen hands at the withers, and he was broad in the chest as well.
His powerful breath puffed out of his chest, and she hummed contentedly as she rested her hand on his shoulder, breathing with him for a moment. If she closed her eyes, it felt like she was home. Hurriedly, she forced herself to think of other things than her homesickness and turned her attention to the matter at hand.
He's got to be a warhorse, she thought smugly, grinning as he dipped his head, demanding more attention.
"Why are you sore?" She asked quietly, easing back to where he was standing oddly and inspecting the whole leg. Hermione's searching fingers quickly found a large knot of scar tissue halfway up the limb; it was cool to the touch and hard as a rock. She'd been correct to assume that he'd survived an injury.
"What happened to his leg?" She called, noting with some satisfaction that Hagrid was openly impressed. Olympe surveyed her with a flicker of respect, and Hermione knew that they hadn't expected her to notice that the mount nursed a serious injury.
" 'Ow did you know that 'e was injured?" Olympe asked curiously, striding closer to where Hermione stood.
"He was standing strangely. I've read quite a bit about horses," Hermione admitted, her chest warming as Olympe surveyed her with a look that could only have been described as vaguely amused. "He's large enough to be a war horse, so I assume that he was injured in battle."
"You are correct," Olympe murmured, fondly patting the stallion on the nose as he blew his lips out at her.
"A tiff with the bloody, uh, the French about five years back did it," Hagrid began, softening his tone immediately as Olympe threw him an exasperated look. "Norbert used to be his Grace's horse, but he's mostly ridden by the Earl now."
"He 'as suffered a terrible spear wound to ze back leg, as you can see," Olympe murmured, nodding at the spot where Hermione's hand still rested. "His Grace would not see 'im put down, on account of ze Earl's affection for 'im."
"So he's Draco's horse? If you ask me, he doesn't deserv-" Hermione asked quickly, realizing too late that she'd callously referred to the Earl by his Christian name, and coupled it with an insult to boot. Olympe's expression darkened slightly, and Hermione quickly corrected herself.
"Pardon me; he's ridden by the Earl?"
"Yes, however only for short distances," Olympe said firmly, patting Norbert on the nose and swinging back into the saddle. "You may visit 'im if you like, 'owever, I would not recommend that you tell his lordship that you are using 'is mount."
"Thank you. That's very kind."
"E' likes you," was the curt reply. Hermione knew immediately by Olympe's tone that she had made a rather serious blunder in etiquette, and she mentally kicked herself. She was forced to take a hurried step backwards as Norbert began to dance on the spot, clearly eager to be off.
"That makes one of you," Hermione murmured, a blush burning across her cheeks as Olympe nudged Norbert into a canter, thundering away across the pasture. She couldn't smother the groan that left her lips as her face scrunched up into an expression of utter mortification.
"Don't ye worry about her," Hagrid rumbled, making no effort whatsoever to hide his grin. "She's very French. She'll be back to kindly soon enough. I anger her quite regularly, and we're still-"
He caught himself right before he said something incriminating, and Hermione couldn't help her laugh as he suddenly came down with a fit of coughing, looking everywhere but at her.
"What are ye laughin' at, lass?" He said with difficulty, his eyes tearing up from the coughing. "We're not quite done with the tour."
Hermione resisted the urge to groan again, and she ran after him as he purposefully strode into the wooded area just beyond the horse enclosure.
This is going to be a long morning.
"Hagrid?"
"Aye?"
"Did you take me down this way to see the horses, or to see Olympe?"
"Yer a cheeky lass, aren't ye."
"You didn't answer my question," Hermione wheedled, grinning savagely at the still blushing Highlander.
"Fine. It was…both," Hagrid finally admitted, looking every inch a schoolboy as a smile slid over his mouth. "Aye, but she's a sight on that horse. Are ye familiar with thistle?"
"I am. Yes, she definitely is," Hermione agreed, noticing with pride that she was immediately able to pick out the plant that he was pointing at. He hummed his agreement, and they resumed walking.
The next two hours were spent wandering around the grounds searching for plants and mushrooms. Hermione wasn't even surprised to see that Hagrid had been carrying around a small basket in his amazing coat. She had quickly filled it with a number of useful herbs and plants, and now she even carried a small jar with fresh honeycomb inside. Finally, after they'd circled back around to the entrance where they'd exited that morning, Hagrid bade her farewell and wandered off, whistling cheerfully.
She was already feeling as though she could make a home here. Although she'd been there for less than a day, there was something about the greenery of the sprawling grounds that made her feel oddly relaxed. She toyed absentmindedly with her metal pendant; her mind had wandered back to her dream.
I doubt that it was anything more than that, but I'm starting to wonder. There's too much that makes sense for it all to be nonsense. Not to mention that the fae looks so much like Draco, I'm not sure what's real and what's a figment of my imagination. If I can use magic, I'd better figure out how to use it quickly.
As she pondered, she came to the strange realization that she hadn't thought of herself as an imposter in almost a full day. That, in and of itself, was a small miracle, and that put a little bounce in her step as she climbed up a small set of worn steps that led up to where Slughorn's tower rested.
Hermione took a deep, calming breath before she entered the castle. She trudged up to the tower where Slughorn kept his rooms, and was so startled when she came around a corner and almost ran smack dab into someone coming from the other way that she nearly dropped her basket.
To her great shock and dismay, it was none other than Draco Malfoy himself.
Her mind flashed back to her dream, and she bit back a shuddering breath of fright as he turned his attention to her. She bobbed a quick curtsy, rapidly taking in the sight of his hollow cheeks and bloodshot eyes as he stopped in his tracks and glared at her, his lip curling.
"You're in my way."
"My apologies, my Lord," she murmured, slowly bringing her gaze up to meet his. His silver eyes flashed with irritation, and she was tempted to wither under his direct stare. Her mouth dropped open in shock as his expression softened slightly and the corner of his mouth ticked up.
"Jumpy, aren't you?" He murmured, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall as he surveyed her with ageless eyes.
It wasn't Draco.
Shit. Oh damn it all, the dream was real.
"You," she breathed, backing up as fast as she could as he let out a soft, melodious chuckle. He followed her, leaning one arm against the wall as her back hit the stone. Her breath came faster, and she could feel a small bead of cold sweat slide down her spine as he stepped closer. "How is it possible-"
"The moon's still out," he said bluntly, his rapidly-lightening eyes glimmering as he directed her gaze out of the nearest stained-glass window. Sure enough, the moon was still barely visible in the bright mid-morning sun.
"You promised not to hurt me," Hermione reminded him with difficulty, trying to ignore her instincts to bolt. She knew that he would catch her; it was better to find out what he wanted now and get it over with.
"I'm not interested in that, ma'helb'eha," he said softly, his tone dripping with derision. "I thought you'd be relieved to know that I don't want your soul anymore. Make up your mind."
"What the hell does ma'helb'eha mean?" Hermione demanded, hating the way that the word croaked strangely out of her mouth. "If I'm going to help you, I'd prefer it if you didn't insult me at every turn."
Her mind whirred. She was torn between throwing herself down the stairs in an attempt to escape and staying to listen to what Draco had to say. Her morbid curiosity kept her rooted to the spot, despite her instincts screaming at her to dart down the steps and out into the forest as fast as she could.
He made a sound that reminded her of rustling leaves. "The easiest translation isn't kind, you're correct."
"Spit it out."
"It means "mudblood"," he said firmly, his eyes narrowing at her as she bristled. "It's well deserved."
"What does that even mean?" She demanded, drawing herself up to her full height and glaring right into his argentine eyes. She fought hard to ignore that they were so close together that she could see tiny flecks of gold scattered in amongst the silver in his irises.
"It means," he began slowly, his tone lowering and darkening as he met her challenge, "That your blood is filled with iron. My kind despises the cold, deathly touch of it, and it pounds through your veins."
"That doesn't make me dirty," Hermione whispered, her expression softening slightly as she clued into the implication of his words. "It physically pains you to be human, doesn't it?"
He didn't respond, simply looked at her with eyes filled with something that she could only describe as sorrow. Draco looked so melancholic that she nearly reached out to brush his silver hair out of his eyes. At the last second, she thought better of it.
Before she could say anything, the flash of pain was gone, and the mask of derision slid over his expression once more.
"Your species deserves any of the names that we use," he half-snarled, his eyes narrowing. Hermione had no idea what he was referring to, but she had the feeling that people like her had tried to break their bargains for centuries.
It must be exhausting, trying to make sure that your promises are repaid, she thought sadly. She nearly let out a sigh of surprise when it occurred to her that she was sympathizing with Draco, or whatever his name was.
Oh, he's good. He's going to manipulate me if I let him into my head. Be careful, Hermione.
Her attention was drawn back to how close he was to her when he laughed softly, and his breath puffed over the exposed skin of her neck. Her skin erupted with goosebumps, and she forced herself to move, sidestepping out of the reach of his outstretched arm, and backing away towards the door to the tower.
"I-I'll see what I can find to get us out of this mess," she muttered, looking anywhere but at him.
"Hermione, it's right in front of your nose," he said loudly, his tone exasperated. "Remember the deal that you made."
"Trust me, I spend most of my time trying to forget that night," she said sharply, her fingers flying up to the scar on her chin out of habit; it was a nervous tick.
His hand flew out to catch hers, and she sucked in a shocked breath as he raised her chin to inspect the scar. He made a small sound of anger, and her eyes widened as his pupils narrowed to slits. Power radiated off his skin as he stepped closer to her, looming over her and overwhelming her with the smell of cinnamon.
"You bled that night?! Had you turned around and listened to me when I demanded that you return to finish the bargain, we wouldn't be in this mess."
"You said that you wanted my soul-" she snarled in strangled whisper, fighting to free her wrist from his iron grip. He released her, forcing her to step backwards as her momentum carried her two steps away.
"I would have taken any payment, had you offered it," he growled back, pointing at her with an accusing finger. "And now, the Old Magic has been denied its payment!"
"You constantly talk in riddles!" She shot, stomping up to him and slapping his upraised hand away. "That doesn't help either of us! Either you help me, or you bugger off!"
His expression flickered through a number of different moods before he appeared to settle on dark amusement. The chuckle that subsequently rumbled out of his throat made her eyes widen.
The set of his eyes was distinctly predatory as he took another step towards her, his hands held out in supplication. His eyes had darkened and her mind immediately flashed to her nightmares. The skin on her neck suddenly felt hyper-sensitive, and she resisted the urge to clap her hand over her throat to protect it.
"Fine. I'll leave. But you have to give me something first," he murmured, clearly enjoying her confusion as she stood rooted to the spot. Her heart thundered madly in her chest and she felt a frisson of fright tempered with heat shoot down her spine. Her muscles tensed and she stood rigidly with her fists clenched as he loomed closer. She closed her eyes reflexively as he leaned ever closer, and then snapped them open as he laughed quietly again.
She very nearly scolded him for frightening her when she saw that he was holding the jar of honeycomb that she and Hagrid had collected that morning. Her jaw dropped as he popped the stopper out and fished out a small piece of the sugared treat.
"Pathetic. You humans are so easily spooked. The nightmares were just dreams, you didn't seriously believe them, did you?" Draco asked softly, his eyes glittering wickedly as he took in the shocked look on her face. He delicately ate the honey, ignoring her completely until he had finished what he'd removed from the comb.
"If I did, would I be questioning what's happening every time that you show up uninvited?" She asked acidly, in no mood to play mind games.
"Would you have tried to summon me if you didn't think that you could actually do it?"
She hated that question with all of her being; he wasn't in a position to tell her what she could believe.
When she didn't answer, he smirked and brandished the shining glass bottle that held the honey. "Take it back, if you want."
"No thank you. I don't really like honey," she murmured, still confused by his odd behavior. Hermione suspected that it was going to take her a while to figure him out.
"Suit yourself, I'll eat the whole thing myself then."
"Why do you want it?" She asked, hating herself for sounding breathless.
"We kill for honey, in my world."
"Why?"
"Humans give it to us as offerings."
Somehow, Hermione doubted that he was kidding. Gingerly, she reached out and gently took hold of the delicate glass bottle. Just as her fingers brushed his, a film dropped over his irises, and they darkened to grey.
His expression contorted from one of vague amusement to hatred, and Draco Malfoy suddenly stood in the fae's place. His eyes narrowed in confusion, and Hermione's stomach dropped into her toes as it dawned on her that he had absolutely no memory of who she was to him or what he was doing in that particular hallway.
The moon must have disappeared for the day.
He's going to have me executed, her mind supplied helpfully, and she forcefully shut those dark imaginings away in the back of her brain. She still stood, frozen, with her hand outstretched against his. The poor honey jar was suspended in between them; Hermione knew without a doubt that it was going to plunge to the ground and smash into a million pieces.
Given our introduction yesterday, he's going to lose his mind.
She wasn't kept waiting long.
"What the fuck are you doing?!"
"I-I-"
"Get your hands off me, you useless peasant!" Draco snarled, flinging himself away from her and slapping the small jar of honeycomb to the ground.
Hermione flinched as the jar shattered, spraying across the floor and sending a shard of glass straight into the exposed skin of her ankle. Her gasp of pain didn't seem to bother Draco, who was already skidding down the stone steps behind her, his indignation puffing him up like an angry cat.
She dropped to one knee and pulled out the glass, frantically scrubbing tears away from her eyes. It wasn't that she was in a lot of pain, but the weight of what her life had become was suddenly becoming real.
The dream was real. Everything is real. I can't run anymore. I can't leave this unfinished; otherwise I'll never have a moment of peace.
Hermione forced herself to think of other things, forcing her expression to one of sheepish embarrassment as the door to Slughorn's rooms flew open and the portly doctor himself came bustling out to see what the commotion was.
"Hermione, my dear, what's happened?"
"Nothing, Horace. Nothing at all."
To Hermione's great relief, her voice didn't tremble. With shaking hands, she gathered up her fallen herbs and followed Slughorn into the tower, hoping against all hope that she would be able to fix what she'd broken before it was too late.
She didn't have the foggiest idea of where to start searching for magic, but she could patch up her ankle.
Hermione, you should have stayed out of the woods, she thought mournfully, following Horace into the tower.
Hermione yawned fiercely and stretched her neck until it cracked. Sighing with contentment, she closed her book and looked out the window towards the setting sun.
She had been at the Duke's court for nearly three weeks, and finally it was starting to feel as though she had a routine. Hermione always rose with the sun, went to search for herbs and to visit Hagrid, then usually to see Olympe, and then to Slughorn's tower. She had mostly been put in charge of fetching cordials and ingredients from the nearby village, but every other day she was instructed to make a new medicine for the Earl.
Nothing seemed to work.
Slughorn was growing increasingly frustrated with their lack of progress. Hermione struggled constantly with the fact that she knew exactly what was wrong; as a doctor, she knew that she should come clean about what was affecting Draco.
However, she could quickly squish her guilt down when she reminded herself of the fact that she would be carted off to the Bishop's cathedral and interrogated for witchcraft if she was dumb enough to share what she knew. She'd been avoiding Father Albus for almost the whole three weeks; she liked the man, but at this point, any slip up could cost her dearly. She'd been presented with irrefutable proof of the fae's existence and proximity, and she was afraid to try and gather any allies in case they turned against her.
She wouldn't blame them; the story sounded completely insane even to her.
Getting burned at the stake won't help anyone.
Hermione now had no doubts whatsoever about the fix for the situation; the only way that the Earl was going to get better was to rid him of the fae who now inhabited his body. She did wonder what would happen when she succeeded, given that the fae had given Draco a new body and identity in Scotland, and so it was possible that the Earl could disappear altogether.
She didn't know whether to hope for or to fear that option coming to fruition. Given the Duke's affection for his son, there will be hell to pay if he simply disappears.
Her research into the arcane was going frustratingly slowly, given that she only felt safe reading Slughorn's collection of odd books when he wasn't present, and also that not one of the books, while incredibly thorough, gave any hint as to the use or execution of magic.
She hadn't encountered Draco since their unfortunate altercation in the hallway, and for that she was immensely grateful. The last thing she needed was to get into another argument with the ancient creature and have nothing to show for her last fortnight of research.
Hermione had read an awful lot of books since their last tiff, and her brain was brimming with new information, but she didn't have a clue how to go about harnessing the power that the fae had unwittingly given her.
The power that she'd accidentally taken.
She made a mental note to subtly ask Horace who Nicholas Flamel was. The man seemed to know an awful lot about the practice of magic; he'd written at least six of the books on the shelves of what Hermione fondly referred to as the "restricted section" of Slughorn's collection. If Flamel knew how to use magic, he hadn't said so, but Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that he could be a crucial resource in her quest to learn how to use it.
She stood up, humming contentedly as she returned her book to its shelf. Hermione was just turning to leave when she felt a flicker of something strange behind her. She pivoted slowly, her heartbeat accelerating just slightly as she turned her attention to the bookshelf.
It feels like…a heartbeat?
The pulse called to her, tapping into something ancient in her blood. She felt her face scrunch into a frown as she wandered closer. Almost unwillingly, she raised her hands and placed them where the rhythm was coming from. She could feel the energy beneath her fingertips, shining and shimmering below the surface of the bookshelf like sunlight through water.
She drew her fingers along the wood of the bookshelf and she knew that she'd found something when her fingertips brushed against a slightly different texture of wood. She pressed lightly against it, following the path of knowledge about hidden compartments and mechanisms that she wasn't aware that she had, and grinned with triumph as a small drawer popped out of the bookcase, moving seamlessly and silently out from the grain of the wood.
Inside the drawer was a small book, bound in what looked to be leather. A puff of dust was dispelled out of the hidden nook as it was opened, and Hermione coughed vigorously as she accidentally inhaled a small lungful of it. When she could breathe normally again, she wiped her eyes and drew the small tome out of its confines.
The book was old, tattered, and covered with small scratch marks and spilled ink. Hermione turned it over in her hands, somehow feeling as if she knew what it was. There was something about it that called to her. However, she didn't miss the way that her skin felt like it was crackling with energy as her fingers brushed against the binding.
She was hesitant to open it to the first page, but her curiosity got the best of her. Hermione swore that she was imagining things, but the book thrummed with power. Trying to ignore the twist of anxiety that wove into her veins, she took the book back to her table.
She should have known better than to toy with magic that she didn't understand.
She told herself that her uncertainty had nothing to do with the strange symbol stamped into the cover. She'd never seen it before; a skull around which a snake twined wasn't exactly commonplace. Gingerly, she opened the front cover, narrowing her eyes to try and decipher the inscription written in faded ink on the first page.
Her Old English wasn't stellar, but she was able to decipher that the book had once belonged to someone called Tom Riddle. She flipped to the next page, glancing over her shoulder at the door, which was still slightly ajar. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd stumbled across something forbidden.
It wasn't because the book had been hidden; it was because the book was alive. In a strange way, it felt like it had a presence, and that both frightened and fascinated her.
Finally. This is something that I can work with.
She pored over the contents of the first chapter, painstakingly translating the old text into something that she could understand. It didn't take her long to realize that the book was a journal. She tried to ignore her instincts screaming at her that the book was sinister, and that there was something dangerous about it, but she continued to read nonetheless.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her heartbeat thumped in a staccato against her ribcage as she read.
The book was about magic.
Who is Horace Slughorn, and why does he have all these books and a secret hiding spot for a book like this?
It contained detailed diagrams for spellcasting and lists upon lists of what the author referred to as "true names". Hermione devoured the knowledge within its pages, flipping though as quickly as she could to try and absorb as much of the information as she was able to.
Suddenly, the fae's words made sense. She'd made a deal to learn to do whatever she wanted, and now, she had a book full of instructions for magic.
Her stomach rioted with a mixture of emotions, mostly fear tempered with excitement. Her fear overrode everything else when she realized the cost of most of the spells that the author had jotted down.
Blood was required to power almost every spell and incantation.
Her eyes widened as she inspected the dark stains on the pages with a new scrutiny, and she swallowed hard; the tiny, burnt-red splatters that marked several pages probably weren't made from red ink.
It didn't appear to be limited to animals either, and Hermione eyed the leather that bound the book with revulsion; she wasn't sure what the binding was made out of. Despite feeling very grossed out and scared that she was walking into another curse, she continued to read.
Hermione couldn't ignore her gut feeling any longer when she turned the page and came face to face with something that made her blood run cold and her stomach drop into her knees.
There was a drawing of a fae.
It wasn't the creature that she'd stumbled across, but she would recognize the cast of its eyes anywhere. It was eerily beautiful; the creature's features were so perfectly symmetrical that she found herself unable to look away. The drawing had been completed with silver ink, which shimmered in the light of the sun that still feebly shone into the room through the window.
To her complete and utter horror, the drawing suddenly moved.
Hermione sat, spellbound, as the image blinked and shifted slightly so that it could look her in the eye. Words echoed in her mind, and she didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.
"You. You are marked," the creature whispered; her voice was as lovely as bells and twittering birds.
"I know," she said, her voice trembling with an emotion that she couldn't explain.
"Your bargain with my kinsman has angered the Old Magic, you will not be able to escape its wrath should you choose to ignore it," the she-fae murmured silently, her ageless eyes surveying Hermione from the worn and tattered page. "Help him. He will die if you cannot find a way to set him free."
"It was a dream, this isn't real!" Hermione said suddenly, drawing back and shaking her head furiously.
She hated the way that she still clutched at denial. She knew full well that she wasn't dreaming.
"You know that it is true. Hermione, you must fulfill the contract, or you will also die."
"You're wrong, I'm not the one who's dying," she said coldly, making a move to throw the book across the room. I must have fallen asleep again, I need to wake up-
"Please. Gwaethe is my son."
She stopped in her tracks, knowing in her blood that the fae had revealed Draco's true name. Her mind whirred, searching for where she'd heard it before.
Finally she remembered.
"So'el carð e'elmeɫ jaema," he had murmured. "Gwaeð, undaið, ðes'ka, ðunj'a'a, saet'nae'."
She'd 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.
Her dream came rushing back, and her eyes widened. Gwaethe really had told her his name.
She must be desperate.
"Who are you?" Hermione whispered, her eyes raking over every detail of the animated drawing, marveling at the detail that flashed like liquid silver as the creature moved.
"You may call me Narcissa."
"How are you communicating with me?" She murmured curiously, her trembling hands held the book aloft as she peered underneath it.
Narcissa laughed softly; it was a bitter sound. Hermione had never heard something so beautiful and frightening. Whatever power her son had, she had tenfold. The fae's ancient eyes bore into Hermione's and she resisted the urge to shiver.
"My blood binds a small part of me to this wretched book. Tom Riddle has been hunting my kind for nearly two hundred years. He nearly succeeded in catching me, as you can see. My distaste for your kind runs deep, and I will never leave the Seelie realm again."
"Your blood?" Hermione's gaze snapped onto the ink that made up the living drawing, her heart leaping into her throat as she came to the realization that she was holding a part of the fae in her hands. It looked like liquid quicksilver, and she already knew that the book was a product of dark and terrible enchantments.
She hurriedly set the book down.
"Yes. Names and blood are the cornerstones upon which my kind is able to use our magic. You should already know this," she said reproachfully, staring at Hermione with what could only be described as motherly disapproval.
Hermione had the good grace to look contrite; but she bit her lip in confusion. "I convinced myself that I hadn't completed any kind of bargain," she admitted, tears welling in her eyes as the ancient creature's steely expression softened slightly. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."
"My son is rather unforgiving, that I will apologize for. But, as a mother, I must ask you to save his life. He is close to powerless and vulnerable in your world."
"Frankly, given the fact that he's tortured me for years," Hermione began in a furious whisper, her eyes narrowing, "I'm not really feeling like I want to be friendly with someone who was willing to drive me insane to get what he wanted-"
"And yet, it was you who called him and made a bargain in the first place," Narcissa snapped, drawing herself up to her full height and glaring venomously at Hermione from the page. "I did not only call to you in order to tell you how to save my son. I am trying to save your life as well, you would have ascertained this fact if you were not so determined to save yourself from your fear!"
"What do you mean..?"
"You will be tracked down and killed, if the Old Magic does not turn on you first. It is only a matter of time. The man who trapped my magic in this vessel will not rest until he holds enough power to conquer death."
"Is Tom Riddle still alive?" Hermione asked softly, already fearing the answer.
"Yes. He has slain many of my kind, all for the power to prolong his life", Narcissa said bitterly, flicking her delicate hand in a motion of disgust. "My son will be hunted, and as long as you hold his magic, so will you be."
Narcissa's bright eyes met Hermione's, and without uttering a sound, Hermione knew exactly what her pleading expression said:
You are cursed. Find the cure. Save my son, and you shall emerge unscathed from the oath that binds you and he together.
"Quickly, human. Your time will run out sooner than you expect."
Her chest suddenly throbbed with a stabbing pain, and Hermione doubled over. She coughed frantically as her muscles began to spasm, fighting to pull air into her lungs. She clapped a hand to her mouth, and when she finally caught her breath, she drew back in horror.
"My God," she whispered, wincing as her lungs gave another painful throb.
"Help my son. Save yourself."
Her hand was dripping with dark, red blood. Hermione hurriedly grabbed her handkerchief and cleaned her hand; her panic was as terrifying and acrid as the metallic tang of the blood in her mouth. She could feel her head pounding, and she let out an involuntary gasp of pain as agony shot through her veins.
She fell off of the chair with a thump, landing hard on the ground.
The last thing that she saw before everything went black was a pair of startlingly green eyes, peering at her from around the corner of the door.
Green eyes. Just like my vision.
"Remember, Hermione, your lives are bound together. If either of you dies, you both die."