─ CHAPTER THREE ─

Under the Sky

Clouds. Clouds reaching as far as eyes could see. White majestic clouds towering like mountains, white wispy clouds like feathers high above, white woolly clouds like sheep, hovering over meadows and woods. Hermione had never seen anything this beautiful in her life. Though she had flown in aeroplanes before, nothing could describe the feeling of skimming through the wideness of the deep blue sky, of parting clouds with the tip of her broomstick, or weaving around them as if they were rolling hills and valleys. Now and then, the cover broke and she could see lakes and rivers far below, winding through the green lands and glittering in the sun. When she looked upwards, she saw the sky turn from indigo to dark purple, a gostly halfmoon hanging in the infinity of space.

Harry and Ron were having the fun of their lives; they kept flying around each other, rolling about and looping the loops, eventually ducking out of other people's way to avoid painful collisions. Hermione didn't join them – even though she enjoyed the voyage, she still didn't approve of such – well, there was no other word for it, childlike behaviour. Instead, she ploughed the cloud beneath her, the bubble surrounding the broom turning into shades of purple as it came into contact with the white masses, and squinted at the horizon, where she could just make out the first group of Ravenclaws and Slytherins as a mere dot in the distance. The group had traveled for over an hour and, having long switched into cruising mode (tapping the first golden stripe twice), its members were spending their time chatting animatedly with each other. Most of them were wondering about what their destination might resemble, though for Hermione, Harry and Ron, the discussion had turned to a certain Malfoy – who unfortunately had been forced to stay behind, lying in a bed under the constant care of a vigilant matron …

'Malfoy's lost his verve. "Potter's little" and whatever he intended to say next … Merlin, I've heard better,' Hermione mocked happily. 'Wonder what's happened to him. Perhaps he's worried … it would be too nice if his father was caught one of these days …'

'Yeah,' Harry laughed, though it was rather breathlessly. 'Just imagine the headline, RICH PATRICIAN FOUND GUILTY OF SUPPORTING THE DARK LORD – a bit long, but nice effects I could think of …'

'And how about the next, WEALTHY FAMILY IN DISGRACE – HEIR OF MALFOY DYNASTY ON THE STREET – for once I wished Rita Skeeter could get her claws on a story like that,' Ron snickered, wiping sweat from his forehead. 'It would look fantastic on Witch Weekly's frontpage, it would.'

Given the number of readers that wretched magazine had, Hermione guessed rumours would spread like wildfire. Yes indeed, it would be too nice …

'Let's just hope old Malfoy won't send his sweet son a package of broomsticks along with his get-well card,' Harry started jokingly, but he dropped his grin within seconds.

The three of them exchanged nervous glances. This sounded exactly like something Lucius Malfoy might do. It was really odd how quickly their subject now switched to Quidditch.

'I do hope it won't be the new Cleansweep Tens,' Ron muttered, frowning worriedly. 'Which Broomstick tested them and gave'em top marks.'

'The Firebolt Giro ZXs might be a better bet,' said Harry darkly.

'Nah, they're just prototypes, not released yet …'

'Uh-uh … didn't your Dad mention something about Malfoy and the Security Department of Magical Sports?'

'Oh right …'

Where did you two leave your nerves? Hermione gave them an exasperated huff.

'Honestly!' she let go. 'What are you going on about, you're both sitting on the solution.'

'Oh right …' Ron said happily. 'D'you think Den will let us borrow them?'

'I'm sure he will,' Hermione assured them. 'Didn't you see that look of his when he showed them to us yesterday? He's in love with brooms and most probably Quidditch, if you ask me.' Both her friends seemed very much relieved at that point, though Hermione suddenly thought of something else. 'Harry?' she asked. 'What is the team doing, now that you're gone?'

'Nothing to worry about,' Harry replied confidently. 'I've left the twins in charge – they've already found a reserve Seeker for us. They'll be playing Ravenclaw first and since we've been training for them last term, the team should be fine.'

Although not as identical as Fred and George Weasley, Caelan and her brother Pat O'Brien had proven themselves as invaluable assets during the last season. The very first thing Harry had arranged after his election as Captain was to rebuild the Gryffindor Quidditch Team as it had always been before – Chaser girls, Beater and Keeper boys. He had asked the old members for advice, and was keeping them informed at the same time. So it came that he had been assaulted by a hailstorm of owls – most of them coming from Oliver Wood – during a garden lunch at the Burrow, causing the entire Weasley household plus visitors to scramble for the garden shed in a rush. Hermione would never quite forget what it had felt like, when Arthur Weasley's famed battery collection had showered down upon her.

'Your broom's on fire!' Ron shouted.

Hermione looked back in alarm, but only laughed loudly.

'What?' said Ron, annoyed.

'Ron, you prat, I'm not on fire,' she giggled, trying to suppress the light-spirited feeling flying that flowed through her. Hermione gazed at the long smoky line issuing a yard from her broom's tail, wondering how to explain to a wizard what condensation was. 'It's normal,' she said. 'The bubble keeps us warm inside, but as it's very cold outside – er …'

Ron was totally flummoxed. Hermione laughed again and said, 'OK, see it this way – you must have spotted some muggle aeroplanes before, with long stripes behind them? Well, we're doing the same. If you'd look behind you, you'd notice you've got one, too.'

'Den!' Harry called to the front. 'Can't the muggles see us, if we trail these behind?'

Den dropped back to their side. 'They can, Harry,' he said. 'We aren't exactly invisible, are we? Fortunately, muggle eyes aren't that keen – we can easily pass for one of these muggle contraptions or so.' He glanced briefly at the ground below. 'Oh, by the way –' he smiled up at them. 'Welcome to France.'

Far beneath her feet, Hermione saw the sparkling blue Channel suddenly change into a flat green countryside, with fields sprankled with clusters of cows, and a large coastal city set between short, sandy beaches.

'This is the seatown of Le Havre,' Den pointed out. 'We've made half of the journey.'

'Only half?' Justin Finch-Fletchley exclaimed. 'This is getting uncomfortable, you know.'

Den shot a poisonous dark look at the person who dared insult French Broomsticks and muttered something under his breath.

It took most of Hermione's willpower to prevent herself from giggling away at the sight of his face, but she quickly transformed her suppressed smile by asking, 'Where actually is Beauxbatons?'

It was in fact a real mystery. She had once read that there was a lot of rivalry between the different magic schools, and that they weren't very keen on letting foreigners know where they were located. Den frowned at her. Not an unfriendly or annoyed frown, it rather looked as if he was thinking delicately about how to answer.

'Lozère,' he finally said. 'In the heart of Massif Central.'

'Won't he get into trouble with Madame Maxime for telling us?' Harry asked quietly, as Den left to check on the rear. 'I thought the whereabouts were always kept secret.'

'Probably,' Hermione and Ron said, shrugging nonchalantly.

'Well – he's Dumbledore's grandson, isn't he,' Ron went on. 'Just does what he thinks is right.'

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

'Nooo!'

'Hermione!'

'Hey, no … stay awake –'

'James – get Madam Pomfrey – go now!'

'Vivere!'

'No use –'

'Jimmy, GO !'

'Blast … hold her up!'

'Goodness, Den – she's cold …'

'ALREADY ?'

'Hermione, stay awake … don't let go …'

'Come on, breathe, breathe – Eola!'

'HELP HER !'

'I'm trying!'

'THEN DO SOMETHING !'

'I'M TRYING !'

'HERMIONE !'

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

'What's going on?' Hermione asked.

'Nothing. Slow down. Now.'

Hermione didn't exactly believe him. The tone in Den's voice told her only too clearly that something was terribly wrong. Only then did she realize that the spot making out the first group was growing larger by the second. In fact, it turned out, they had halted completely.

The Ravenclaws and Slytherins were talking loudly amongst each other, floating around and obviously not knowing what to do. Den flew over to his fellow guide, his face unreadable. As they started conversing in French, Hermione thought she had discerned the word 'Mangemorts'. Vargas pointed to a spot on the ground below. Hermione's gaze followed the finger's direction. She couldn't see anything. Den apparently could, for he was squinting anxiously downwards at a little wood. However, Hermione knew enough French to understand what Vargas was talking about.

There was a small house (minute, seen from their height), set in a small clearing.

As Hermione, Harry and Ron watched, an enormous green skull with a serpent uncurling from its mouth appeared over the roof.

'In broad daylight?' Ron shouted, eyes widening in horror.

Mangemorts – the French word for Death Eaters.

'LOOK !' a girl screamed. Hermione cursed quietly. Why did Ron have to yell like that? Now, everyone had seen it and was starting to panic.

A swishing sound caused Hermione to take her eyes from the events below. Den had swerved over and was hovering next to Harry.

'I must leave now –' he told them. 'Vargas will lead you safely to Beauxbatons.'

'What?' said Harry, alarmed. 'You can't do anything alone. Let me come along.'

He pulled his broom around and made to follow his friend, but Den placed a hand on his shoulder and held him steady.

'No – I have strengh enough for this,' he assured him. 'Our aurors will be here soon, I'll be fine ... keep out of trouble.' He gave Vargas a sharp sign, and dove towards the earth without another word.

Harry followed him with his eyes. 'This is madness, he'll be killed in no time …' he was knitting his brows together in fury. 'I'm going after him.'

'Harry, NO!' Hermione grabbed his arm. 'You heard what he said –'

'I'm not running away, I know I can help,' he said, voice rising.

This was probably true, as Harry had gathered a lot of experience concerning Dark wizards, but Hermione wasn't giving in to this, this …

This ridiculous attempt at boy's heroism.

'Don't be stupid! He can deal with it, he's powerful enough!'

'Maybe you didn't notice,' Harry snarled, pointing down, 'But he's one of the few friends I've got. I'm not letting him die!'

Hermione looked helplessly at the rest of the group, who were already flying away. 'He wouldn't want you to,' she pressed. 'He doesn't want to endanger you, so please come along!'

Suddenly, the sound of far-away explosions reached their ears. The aurors had arrived, and by the wildly flashing lights, they could tell a fierce battle had begun.

'They are murdering people down there!' Harry hissed. 'After what happened to you this summer, you should have some understanding for this!'

He ripped his arm from Hermione's grasp and shot towards the forest. Ron gave Hermione a quick stay-here glance, and before she could say anything, he had rushed after Harry. It took Hermione a split second to make up her mind. These two were obviously mad, but they were her friends and she found it her duty to keep their backs clear, if this was the least she could do. Ignoring Ron's unspoken order, she pressed the broomhandle down and followed as fast as the Zéphyr would allow.

It hadn't been a very good decision.

A heavy smoke was lying over the leafy roof of trees, and as they neared lower altitudes and pulled out of their dive, a concentrated storm of arching rogue beams suddenly ricocheted upwards – right into their direction. Hermione yanked the broomstick aside and dodged a pair of them. She had just rejoiced at her quick reflex when something distinctly unnatural occurred. The magic bubble suddenly blew up in bright purple colours, as if she had raced into an invisible barrier – and Hermione registered three facts. Both Harry and Ron had disappeared. Second, she was no longer flying over a small wood, but over an ocean of thick fog. She had time to make out the peaks of mighty pine trees towering in some places, before noticing that her broom was beyond control.

All Hermione saw was the white sea engulfing her.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

'Harry!'

Hermione jerked awake with a yell. She instantly screwed her eyelids back shut as a dazzling light blew out her eyesight. She drew quick, shallow breaths, feeling cold sweat drenching her face and the nape of her neck. When the sparkling red circles had finally receded from her retina, Hermione carefully risked to open her eyes again. She moaned quietly, trying to recall what had happened. Then the terrible truth sank on her.

I'm dead.

She heard her moan break into a strangled gasp.

Yes, she was dead. She had just died. Just like that. Harry had screamed her name – and she had disappeared from the living world.

So, if I am dead, this must be … something like Heaven?

Hermione's gaze followed a crescent path. The fresh, green meadow rolled itself into smooth hills, the foot-long grass weaving back and forth in a light breeze. It seemed to reach far beyond the horizon. Hermione knew this place – she had seen it before. Many years ago, in one of her dreams. It looked exactly as she had imagined it to be. It was not Heaven, though she knew that if she could see it, she had to be dead.

Very slowly, Hermione stood up. Then only did she perceive the sound of gurgling waters behind her.

Oh goodness, this place was really weird. Until now, everything could as well have passed for an untouched English countryside, but this certainly didn't fit in. Her eyes were very round indeed when Hermione saw the river. It was more of a small stream, actually. Or a large river, whatever was correct. The bubbles were not correct – bubbles in all sizes rising slowly from the riverbed and high into the air. Hermione felt her mouth drop. If the river was odd, it wasn't near to be compared with the sky. Above her, a grey cloudy infinity with tinges of blue breaking only to reveal a dark night, sparkling with silver stars and their clear inflexion rings, stretched itself beyond the range of imagination. She counted three moons, all extremely large, suspended in space like immense marbled spheres … and one of them was the planet Earth.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief, blinked, and looked once more. Yes, it was the Earth – at least it resembled the pictures Hermione had seen from a moon landing on the muggle television. Complete with oceans, continents, clouds and everything else. She could even make out a hurricane creating destruction over West Africa.

Her vision blurred.

She felt her legs give away and moments later her hands splashing through the water. Hot tears poured into the cold stream. The merry gurgle of the river took hold of the whispered names of her beloved and carried them away.

Hermione didn't know how long she wept, nor did she care to. Her fingers were blue and numb from the running water. Her skin  prickled as the wind suddenly doubled up. Her sobs subsided as the most beautiful voice echoed in her head.

'Paid ag anghofio

Thou from Men,

How I brought it to life,

And so brought thee to life.

'Paid ag anghofio

Thou from Men,

Above my silent kingdom,

Thy passing shall come.'

Hermione heard the soft sound of feet stepping towards her through the grass. Still the song slowly continued in her head, seizing her very soul and enlightening her heart. She recognized the ancient lore. She recognized the voice.

'Paid a fy anghofio fi

Great Lord of Men.

For I protect thy roam,

Thou faithful traveler,

And bring thou home,

To thy son, thy daughter.

'Paid a fy anghofio fi

Fair Lady of Men,

My rule may not falter,

Now tell those after thee,

"Bring your daughters to the water…'

'"Send your sons down to the sea",' Hermione finished, and faced the woman behind her. 'Nimue!'

The Lady smiled. Her eyes were soft, her hair long and her skin fair. The wind rippled in the folds of her long, blue dress, as she stretched her wide white wings into their full extent.

'It is I … Friend of Merlin,' she said with a benign nod.

Hermione felt a tremour run through her body as the full impact of what she was seeing came upon her. She hadn't heard herself being called by this title for such a long time. Wild questions started dancing in her mind, though she only uttered one.

'Where am I?'

The Lady smiled. She did not answer directly.

'I have not expected you this early, Friend of Merlin,' said Nimue. 'Though I know what has happened. For I know many things. It is my wish that you are my guest. Come.'

Unable to contradict, Hermione got to her feet and took the magnificient hand Nimue offered her.

'Where am I?' she asked a second time, as they started walking together along the riverbank.

'Do you not remember my realm?' Nimue asked, smiling again.

'Yes, I do,' Hermione replied. 'But how can this be? I must be dead.'

'There are many things you yet have to learn,' the Lady answered.

'But – this cannot be … I felt myself die,' Hermione stuttered. 'How could I –'

Nimue smiled. 'You have not felt yourself die, for that is not what you are now.'

'I'm not dead? Where am I, then?'

'In my realm.'

Hermione sighed hopelessly. Demanding a straight answer from the oldest of Naiads was indeed a wearisome enterprise.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Darkness. Darkness and pain.

Hermione stirred. There was something wrong with her chest … it hurt with each breath she tried to take, as if she had been knocked over with a battering ram.

She kept her eyelids shut tightly. Every part of her body was screaming in agony. She guessed this was a good sign. What did they always say? Oh yes. Dead people don't feel pain. How comforting. In addition to the pain stinging all over, there was something rather sharp poking into her back. Hermione blindly tapped her hands around her, and found something to pull herself up. As she stood, feeling as though each of her bones was fractured (some of them caused her to wince as they snapped back into place), she finally opened her eyes. It took them some time to adjust to the contrastful lighting in the wood. It was a fairly mixed, untouched forest, mostly composed of high, deciduous trees, though some dark conifers shot out of the leafy ground here and there. There was a cool, wispy fog resting in the air. Looking up, Hermione realized how lucky she had been. Thirty feet higher, she could recognize some shattered remains of a broomstick sticking in the branches of a springy pine tree. She guessed that one had broken her fall. Her gaze travelled down the trunk, as it slowly changed from slender to strong, taking in several broken twigs and several feet of a shredded black cloak. Yes … the tree had saved her. It had gently dropped her into a beautiful, fearsome, thorny bush … Thanks a lot.

Her neck gave an unhealthy crack when Hermione craned to look further up. Startled, she blinked. The sky was golden. There was still the thick fog she had flown through, but it was no longer grey and heavy – it seemed unnaturally … magical. It hung over the trees like several drapes of finest, translucent gold linen. Only now did she take notice of the unearthy yellow light that bathed all her surroundings, eliminating colours as Hermione remembered them. Even her robes didn't seem as black as before. Her focus bounced undeterminedly between all these impossible new caprices of nature. No … it had to be magic.

Then Hermione realized how silent it was around her. There was no sign of a raging fight anymore. Even the wind had muted. Only the strange songs of unknown woodland birds rang clearly through the fresh air. She was on her own now. Alone in the vast realm of an unknown forest, in a foreign land, hundreds of miles away from home.

'Never fear, Hermione,' she muttered aloud to herself. 'You-are-a-Prefect. You're intelligent enough to get out of here.'

Upon her words, she drew out her wand and enunciated the Four-Point charm. Hermione set off in the westward direction logic had chosen for her, walking through rays of glittering light that broke through the ceiling of bright green leaves and crept over the ground as the wind rustled gently in the treetops.