Chapter 22 - Aradia
A/N: I'm taking some liberties between the Cerridwen mythos, ancient texts' contents, and Welsh lore.
Without flashes of dark curls flying around the corner, the quick slam of a door, or fresh flowers alternating in the kitchen vase, Draco could have sworn Hermione was a ghost. It had been nearly two weeks since she had become a recluse. No sounds came from her room. She seemed to only be active while he was out in garden or asleep late at night. At first he hadn't minded, understanding that she needed space to process whatever it had been that passed between them. However, as the tenth or so day passed without a living sign of her, his patience had worn thin. He wasn't sure if she was eating, sleeping, or how her magic was faring.
He hadn't been able to shake the feeling that she was grower weaker, but at the same time, their connection had been relatively haywire since the pseudo-kiss. The normally comforting white noise that settled deep in his spine had morphed into loud static, clouding any true indication of her well-being. Slamming his hands down on the greenhouse's counter, Draco released an angry huff. If she didn't appear soon, he would have to seek her out and shake some sense into that stubborn head of hers.
Clapping his hands together, he turned back to the seedlings before him. Most of them were doing extraordinarily well, but some seemed to be dying quicker than others. He took a quick survey of the greenhouse's contents and estimated the majority of them appeared in solid condition. A flash of dark green caught his eye and he moved some containers to find a handful of moldy plant lumps hidden in a shady corner. Frowning at the rate of decay before him, he hastily reached over and removed the diseased plants.
An interesting thought entered his mind as he dumped the container's contents on the ground and set to re-enter the greenhouse. He stopped, thinking back to the previous evening's translation work. The small journal, or the Black Book of Carmarthen he had ultimately deciphered, turned out to be a collection of Welsh mythology and ancient sagas. It had been in rough condition along with several pages pockmarked with holes and water damage. The book had made some mentions of the ancient sorcerer, Merlin. A fact that had fascinated Draco considerably.
He had just finished a particular poem that had briefly mentioned Cerridwen and her "great and terrible powers of the Earth used during the Battle of Llongborth". He thought it interesting that such a being should only be mentioned in passing, but he wouldn't have been surprised if Merlin had tried to suppress any mention of creatures more powerful than him. Draco had not cared for the fantastical tales of Merlin as a child. He found the warlock's myth to be full of self-importance, favoritism, and ambiguity.
Much like Dumbledore, he thought with a snort of amusement. This notion was immediately accompanied by a sense of deep sadness. He wondered if the wizard would be alive today if it hadn't been for him. His godfather had ended up killing the man instead to save him from the Dark Lord's terrible wrath. Shaking the melancholy thoughts from his head, Draco recalled the passage regarding Cerridwen.
He had found the particular mention "of Earth" particularly intriguing. It seemed to suggest some form of elemental magic, which wasn't far off from the display of elemental magic Hermione was capable of. The book had made no other mention of her and Draco found that off-putting. For a powerful goddess to be so casually erased from the storyline felt very suspicious to him. He wondered idly if Hermione had the ability to control all the elements, something unheard of in the wizarding world. In order to find out, that meant he'd have to approach her first. Sighing in irritation, he re-entered the greenhouse and resumed inspecting the bright green sprouts before him.
A couple hours later, he exited the greenhouse covered in a fine coat of sweat. It was becoming unbearably hot inside the greenhouse, especially during the middle of the day. He walked over to the freshly tilled beds, his arms full of prepared plants. Setting them down gently, Draco picked up a thick stick and began punching holes in the dark mounds to transplant the garden. He stopped and looked up towards her window, feeling the distinct sensation of being watched.
His eyes widened as he caught sight of the spectre before him. Hazel locked briefly with silver before she vanished out of view. He grimaced, caught off guard at her sudden appearance. She looked horribly thin, a deep and exhausted expression written across her pale face. Her hair had hung dark and limp at her sides. Her arms had been wrapped tightly around her as if she were trying to warm herself. Her eyes looked swollen and raw. He let his gardening tool drop to the side as he rushed towards the cottage.
Kicking off his boots while casting a hasty cleansing spell, he sprinted up the stairs, strode across the hallway, and kicked the door open to find her pressed against the wall like a frightened animal.
Hermione woke to a heavy weight on her chest. She swatted at object in irritation.
Get down Crookshanks, she grumbled, You aren't a kitten anymore.
Her eyes snapped open as she remembered that Crookshanks wasn't with her, but back at the Burrow. When Harry, Ron, and her had left the Burrow, she had had to leave her beloved half-kneazle behind. She pushed the object off, a book she finally realized, with a forceful shove. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to stem the stream of tears building. She was tired of crying. Every morning she had woke, reminded of some memory or face, and cried without abandon. She just didn't have the energy to shed another, laying in the bed til her face burned.
She let her head drop to the side to find it was nearly midday. Another day of translation, of pouring her magic into that greedy book, and of avoiding her cottage companion. He had surprisingly respected her distance and she was thankful for the space. While he was out working the garden, she'd quietly stand at the window and observe him. It warmed her heart how much effort he put into that little plot of land, which had shocked her as well. She would have never figured Draco Malfoy for having a legitimate green thumb. She had been mildly interested at the speed in which he grew the tender plants, but just shrugged it off as magic. Her mind, when it wasn't emotionally sabotaging her, was fixated on the contents of that damned book.
The Gospel of the Witches appeared to be semi-sentient. The book refused to reveal more than it wanted, no matter how much magic she poured into. It spoke in riddles, told half-truths, and purposefully stopped mid-sentence as if to deter Hermione from understanding the texts. The most infuriating aspect of this book was its blasted ability to keep her from taking notes. No sooner than Hermione had placed a quill to parchment to transcribe the book's contents to find her ink had vanished completely, only to reappear when she burned up both the parchment and quill in anger. Luckily, she had a nearly photographic memory but not even she could mentally store that volume of information accurately.
The book read like the Christian Bible, with themes of oppression, a messiah figure, and Paradise. She had sneered when she noticed the similarities, her initial judgement of the book's title partially accurate. The book had spoken in depth of the goddess, Aradia. She was known by many names, the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith, age-old queen of many splendid kingdoms, and the first known source of magic and knowledge. The book did not outright mention Cerridwen, but deep down, she knew Aradia was Cerridwen. In her previous accusations against Hermione, Cerridwen had claimed to have "access to the great secrets of the universe and a fount of power and wisdom" and "directly affects how magic manifests for all magical beings".
If Aradia was known as the first source of magic, it was safe to assume Cerridwen was just another name used throughout the ages of magic. Just as Romans and Greeks had different names for the gods and goddesses of the pantheon, so it would be with Cerridwen.
Hermione rolled over to face the window, exhaustion set deep in her bones. She could barely leave the bed these past days, her magic spent while leaving her physically drained as well. Her diet had been dismal at best, many of her meals simple with little nourishment so she could avoid spending too much time downstairs. The clothes Mrs. Malfoy had packed for her were beginning to hang off her thin frame and her hair had lost its luster. Inwardly, she knew she couldn't keep this routine up much longer.
Heaving herself up slowly, her arms shaking from the effort. Fully upright, she pushed off the bed and shuffled towards the window. She assumed Draco was below, tending to the garden. Watching him brought her some sort of solace. It was so simple and natural without the pressure of being in his presence. She sighed softly when his form came into view.
He was hunched over and kneeling on the soft ground while lovingly placing seedlings into the ground. She smiled gently at the scene. The sun was reflecting off his hair, throwing off a golden sheen. She pursed her lips as she watched his shoulder muscles ripple under his thin shirt as he worked the dark, rich soil. He stood up, dusting his hands off on his pants and began to survey the scene before him. She watched him reach down, pick up a stick, and began pushing it into the soil. She reveled in the quiet reverence of it all.
Without warning, his head snapped up and connected line of sight with her. Taking a gasping breath, she stood still in shock before abruptly jerking backwards out of view. Gripping her shirt tightly, she huffed heavily. Hearing a faint clatter, she creeped over to the window and peeked out of the corner to find the garden plot empty. She groaned inwardly and backed away from the window, pressing herself into a corner of the room as she heard his heavy footsteps barrel up the staircase. She only had a second's warning before the door blasted open, revealing a very red-faced Draco Malfoy.
"What in Merlin's name is going on with you Granger?!" he snapped forcefully, "You look like shite."
She continued to cower against the wall, refusing to speak with eyes the size of saucers. He sighed in irritation and pushed back his sweat-soaked hair.
"Look Granger…I mean Hermione." He corrected gently, "I didn't mean to startle you, but you've been hiding in this room going on two weeks and honestly, no offense, but you look about as bad as when you arrived at the Manor. All bones and vacant eyes, like a shade of yourself."
Her eyes flashed fiercely for a brief moment before narrowing into slits with lips pressed tight together. He took a couple unsteady steps forward, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Are you eating enough? Or sleeping?" he prodded, shuffling towards her slowly.
She gave a curt nod and shifted to grasp her knees to her chest. Draco's heart broke at the sight of her. She looked so frail and worn. He felt a bubble of guilt and fury swell inside at knowing it was partially his fault for her current condition. The bubble immediately popped when he also considered that she had caused this entire situation in the first place.
"You…" he started, sighing heavily, "You can't keep this up, whatever this is." He finished with a vague gesture.
He finally reached her and crouched down. Reaching out, he tenderly laid his hand on her slim arm.
"Hermione, I need you here with me." He confessed quietly, tilting his head slightly, "I can't do this without you."
He heard her breath hitch as she lifted her hand to curl around his. She tilted her head to match his, confusion written in her eyes.
"You do?" she whispered, "What could you possibly need me for?"
His brow creased as he pulled his hand from under hers, bringing it up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"If you have to ask, Granger," he huffed out, "Then nothing I say will make you understand."
He dropped his hand and looked at her, shivering slightly against the wall. Stuck between weariness and sadness, he stood and began walking away. He couldn't handle the fear and uncertainly that radiated from her. It further fueled his self-loathing and, once again, proved just how irreconcilable they were. Satisfied she was at the very least still breathing, he withdrew from the room and slowly descended back to the peace the garden afforded him.
Hermione sat still, breathing heavily, on the floor. His words had shocked her to the core. Had she truly been so indifferent to his feelings? She had always assumed his polite manner had simply been some roundabout Slytherin way to repaying a debt or because of the damned bond. Cursing her brain, she pushed up off the floor and stood awkwardly. Taking a calming breath, she moved towards the armoire and grabbed a thin cloak. Despite the warmth of the midday sun, she felt cold to the bone.
Ambling down the stairs, she gently eased the cottage's front door open and slipped out towards the garden. Lifting the cloak's hood to cover her eyes, she huffed. She had barricaded herself inside so long that the sunshine glowed too harshly, her eyes irritated. Stopping to lean against the corner of the cottage, she watched him continued to work the dark earth. She took catalogue of the clump of fresh seedlings sitting on the ground and found her surprised once again at his gardening abilities. Jerking slightly, she realized that if it hadn't been for his foresight and resolve, they might have starved before the Order came to collect them. She realized abruptly that her survival depended on his perceptive state of mind while she had been obsessing over some ancient, and probably useless, text.
She hadn't been in the greenhouse since their awkward encounter, allowing him to have that private place to himself. Much like the upstairs bedroom that she had basically turned into her own personal bunker, she thought with a snort. However, she had not expected the snort to physically escape and she instantly clapped her hands over her face with a yelp. Draco stilled and cautiously lifted his head.
"What's so funny?" he growled.
Hermione dropped her hands and took a wary step forward.
"Nothing!" she replied quickly, too quickly.
His eyes tightened in suspicion as he leaned both arms across the long stick he'd been using. She begin wringing her hands under his scrutinizing gaze.
"If you came out here to laugh at me," he ground out tersely, "You can just go back to your room."
He resumed his work, albeit it much more aggressively than before. Hermione winced as he forcefully slammed the stick into the ground.
"I-…" she started, "I wasn't laughing at you. I was just…thinking about how ridiculous I have been lately. I've been so frightened of the changes. Who am I supposed to be? Am I stuck like this forever? I've always been the logical one. The level-headed one, but I just feel like I am spiraling out of control. I can't do this alone." She finished, nervously picking at her nails.
He stopped mid-work and craned his head towards her, white-blonde locks falling to the side.
"What did you say?" he murmured, straightening up.
Hermione felt her heart stutter at the appearance of his face. He looked wary but something hopeful hovered around the edges of his expression.
"I need you too."