Title: Ripple
Disclaimer: Refer to chapter one.
Rating: R
Chapter Summery: In which Hermione is rudely awaken, finds out a little bit more about her situation and :drum roll: meets the 'Dark Prince'.
Authors Notes:
I will differentiate between THE PAST (which is where Hermione is) and THE PRESENT (normal Hogwarts time) using caps at the beginning of paragraphs where a change has occurred.
Heres chapter three! The next chapter will come out sooner, I promise. I was in the middle of exams and have been distracted by study and such. I am now finished with exams and uni for a whole three months so expect weekly updates from now on! Many thanks to the people who reviewed I hope you're still reading and interested.
Chapter 3: A Rude Awakening
Change is coming,
Through the passageways of time.
The missing piece has been found,
Her presence required.
From the collected prophesies of,
Morgana Le Fey
THE PAST
Hermione's first hint that she was not waking up in her familiar dorm room wrapped up in her warm bed sheets, was the pain in her stomach and the constant rough jostling motion. Her bed did not, most emphatically not in fact, trot. Nor did she sleep slung face down over it like a sack of potatoes. It was also a good deal wider.
Her second clue that all was not right in the world was the sound of two rough male voices talking over her head and the sound of more murmuring in the background. The throbbing swollen mess the left side of her face seemed to be wasn't exactly normal either. Oh, her hands and feet were also bound with course feeling rope. Hermione began to slowly register what the voices above her were saying.
"…the potion the old sorcerer gave me, besides knocking the bitch out that is," here both voices broke into harsh guffaws. "Is supposed to make it so she can understand what we're saying, that and speak like a civilised human being."
"Do they really speak so barbarically where she is from?" The second voice inquired, Hermione made a conscious effort to make it seem as if she was still unconscious as she felt the owner of the voice peer at her intently. She had no desire to face the owners of those rough voices just yet, especially because she had identified the voice of the first speaker, it was the man who had both kidnapped her and struck her across the face. The man who shared such a disturbing resemblance to Ron, so much so that she had initially mistaken him for Ron, more so even than any of his brothers.
"Oh, yes," the first voice, Hermione's initial attacker, assured his companion. "Could barely understand a word the lot of them were saying. "Thankfully Gwill, not a great deal of speech is required when abducting a single woman."
"But you were gone for a good three days!" Gwill exclaimed. What sort of a name was Gwill? Hermione privately wondered a growing anxiety about just how far from home she really was forming in her belly.
"Yes," Hermione's attacker replied a smug boasting tone entering his voice. "The old sorcerer informed me that time flows differently on either side of the portal. It took me no more than a few hours to accomplish my task. I hardly know why she is so important to the old man, she was so easy to capture and after all she is just a woman."
Just a woman! Hermione fumed silently, why they were talking like complete barbarians, you'd think that women had never been liberated and they were all still living in the eighteen hundreds! Unless that was exactly where, or rather when, the mysterious portal, which Hermione assumed to be the stone circle, had taken her to. After all that horrible man that looked like Ron was talking about how time flowed differently on either side of the portal.
"Maybe," Gwill's voice said slowly, as if it required a great deal of effort to think. "Maybe Gawain she's not just a woman maybe she's powerful, like," here his voice lowered as if he was afraid to say the name too loudly, "the Dark Witch."
Hermione's anxiety increased, not only had she been kidnapped and taken far from home she was possibly, as she was increasingly beginning to suspect, not even in her own time anymore. The place she found herself, it seemed, had a Dark Witch on the loose and the people who had kidnapped her were apparently supposed to be the good guys. The good guys who it seemed thought she was in some way connected or like this Dark Witch.
Hermione's attacker, Gawain she corrected herself, scoffed at Gwill's suggestion and laughed.
"Nay, never would someone of the evil witch's power be taken so easily nor," here Hermione felt his fingers tangle through her hair as he jerked her head up, "remain unconscious for so long." Hermione could not suppress a pained gasp at his actions and her eyes involuntarily flew open.
"My lord," apparently among company Gawain was to be shown greater respect. "She is awake!" Hermione was wondering, threw the waves of pain radiating from the rough grip on her hair, how such a brute, as Gawain appeared to be, could be a lord. Her neck was twisted to an even more painful angle as his lordship jerked her head around so he could peer into her face.
"Ah, so she is, did you enjoy your rest my Lady?" He asked placing heavy sarcasm on the last two words. Hermione didn't answer, struck dumb yet again by his astonishing resemblance to Ron. At the moment, however, she was in no danger of taking him from her warm hearted friend, never, not even in one of his frequent fits of temper, had their ever been such a look of cruelty upon Ron's face.
Now that she had the benefit of her vision restored to her Hermione took the chance to observe her surroundings, as much as she could from precarious position. That position of been slung, bound hand and foot over a horse Gawain's horse to be exact, the whole horse bit more than explained the trotting. That it was Gawain's horse which he two was occupying explained his easy access to her hair, as she was slung, indeed very much like a sack of potatoes, in front of him.
"Seems that she's lost her voice," Gwill's cruelly amused voice declared. "No great loss, I've always said that a silent woman is the best kind of woman there is to have." Hermione shivered in apprehension as she twisted to see Gwill leering at her vulnerable body unpleasantly.
Gawain joined his friend in repugnant laughter and Hermione flinched as he jerked her head even further back, before releasing her abruptly. Hermione let her head fall back down limply, the beginnings of a plan beginning to form in her mind. Her greatest advantage at the moment would be to play upon her captors assumptions, she needed to seem as frightened and meek as possible, her captors obviously had little regard for women, and her only hope lay in them underestimating her.
That is if they didn't rape her first.
"Not possible," Gawain said all traces of laughter gone from his voice, "the sorcerer specifically ordered that she was not to be touched. Something about her remaining whole, at least until he knows more about her."
Hermione felt a surge of disproportionate gratitude towards this mysterious sorcerer who had, at least until he knew more about her, saved her from that particular fate. Of course he was also the one who had arranged for her kidnapping in the first place.
Gwill's face dropped in disappointment at his leaders command, and Hermione was relieved to notice that he, unlike Gawain, did not share any disconcerting resemblance to someone she cared about from home. She didn't think she could handle it if her tormentors consisted of a Harry doppelganger as well as the already present Ron doppelganger.
"Send a scout out to find a suitable location to spend the night." Gawain ordered, "The sun will be setting in a few candle marks." Gwill broke from his place riding alongside Gawain to relay his orders to the band of men travelling behind them.
"Wench," Gawain nudged her prone form with his knee. "Why do you not speak? Do you not wish to know where you are? Or rather" and here his voice turned sly, "when you are?" He chuckled and then fell silent, obviously expecting some reaction on Hermione's part.
Hermione remained silent, her suspicions about been lost in time confirmed; she had to stick to her plan of seeming as harmless and weak as possible which meant not rising to the bait. Besides if she remained silent perhaps he would get cocky and reveal more about her current situation, such as how far back in time she actually was.
Gawain, however, it seemed was not content to let her remain silent and nudged her again, far more violently, with his knee. Hermione breath rushed out of her with a whoosh as the blow winded her she reflected, as she struggled to draw breath that she was sure to have yet another bruise to add to her growing collection. She forced herself to whimper in fear and curl in on herself as much as she could, while her Gryffindor nature despised showing such weakness to the enemy, it was not hard to fake her fear as she was terrified, some dubious protection from an absent sorcerer not enough to ease her fears.
Thankfully this response seemed to satisfy Gawain and with a grunt of disgust and mutterings about 'weak females' he stopped bothering her.
Hermione sat watching the camp fire, warm orange flames flickering, keeping the surrounding darkness at bay. She tuned out the loud rancorous talk of the men surrounding her as they ate and drank and turned her thoughts to what was happening back home. Was Ron okay? She winced as she recalled her last sight of his limp still body against the wall.
She had been unconscious for nearly a whole day as near as she could guess, her captors certainly weren't forthcoming with details, and she remembered the sun rising just before Gawain had forced that vile potion down her throat.
Hermione wondered if her friends had gone to Dumbledore to let him know what had happened and if, even now, the great wizard was devising some plan to come to her rescue. Although from what Gawain had said about the differences in time flow on either side of the portal she would be lucky if Harry had even succeeded in reviving Ron yet.
Even if they had managed to make it to the Professor was their really anything that could be done to help her? Professor Dumbledore was unquestionably a great wizard but he was not all powerful. They would have no idea where or when she had been taken unless there was some way to tell from analysing the magical residue left on the standing stones.
"Wench," Gawain suddenly exclaimed from his position at her side. "I have decided," he declared waving the arm holding his drinking flask and grinning at her with flushed cheeks. "To tell you the reason you have been brought here."
"Er… thank you my Lord." Hermione said hesitantly when it became apparent that Gawain expected some sort of response. She concentrated very hard upon remaining still and not cringing away from his alcohol laden breath and leering face as he lent towards her.
"You have been brought back into the past by the Great Sorcerer Merlin!" He proclaimed dramatically, and then he sat back eagerly to watch her reaction. Hermione's eyes widened, then her brow furrowed as she frantically thought over the consequences of this revelation, finally she gave her much anticipated result.
"Who?" She asked, completely bewildered.
Gawain's smug anticipation immediately transformed to stunned disbelief as his eyes frantically searched her face for any sign of deceit. Hermione flinched backwards in shock as he abruptly leapt to his feet cursing, viscously throwing his flask into the fire.
"You are lying!" He accused her swinging around to face her, glaring furiously. "He assured me you would know him! He is famous in your time; I heard several of your people refer to him while I was there!"
"I think I would have heard of him if he were so well known." Hermione retorted before thinking, her scholarly sensibilities offended, she most certainly would have at least heard of this mysterious wizard if her classmates were referring to him in everyday speech.
"Silence!!" He roared, taking a threatening step in her direction. Hermione shrank back her fear returning as she belatedly remembered that this was a man who thought nothing of hitting women and that she was stuck in a time full of such men. This meant none of the men around the fire were likely to come to her aide if Gawain decided to give her a thrashing for her supposedly faulty memory.
Gawain began pacing and muttering to himself, both his men and Hermione watching him in wary silence all of the previous revelry the men had displaying was silenced in the face of their leaders wrath.
"It will not work if she does not remember… what could have gone wrong? He shall be furious… mayhap the deceitful creature is lying to cause me unrest." At this point in his muttered tirade Gawain shot Hermione an evil look.
"But if she is not? What could have caused the damage to her memory?" Gawain muttered and paced some more, running his hands through his hair and over his person. His hands came to rest at his belt running over the various items stored there; they froze when they came to rest on a sealed black velvet pouch. The expression on Gawain's face was one of dawning realisation as his hands frantically scrambled at the pouches ties, having succeeded in opening the pouch he pulled out a phial which was half full of a violet coloured liquid which gave off a faint luminescence.
"The potion." He said bringing the phial up to eye level and staring at it in dawning horror. "I gave her two much, Merlin said a drop would do and I forced almost half of it down her throat." This was too much for the silent watching Hermione, the moron holding her captive had overdosed her with an unknown potion, who knew what adverse affects it had had or was still having on her!
"You what!" She shrieked sitting bolt upright and staring at him in horror. "You could have killed me! How could you be so stupid, I doubt I am much use to this wizard Merlin dead. You should not even be using potions you know nothing about…" Hermione abruptly cut off her rant and shrank backwards as Gawain, whose face had been getting redder and redder throughout her lecture, started moving towards her his hand raised in order to strike her.
She had again momentarily forgotten herself; she was no longer safe in her time surrounded by people who cared for her. She was not in a time where men, as a rule, did not strike women. Gawain was not one of her beloved friends or even enemies such as Malfoy, whom she could harangue perfectly secure in her physical safety. Here she must remain meek and docile, rather than confident and lecturing, it was imperative for her safety and wellbeing.
"Picts! Picts attacking!" He was interrupted from his goal as the sentry ran into the camp screaming a warning at the top of his lungs. Gawain whirled about to face the sentry staring at him incredulously, the men around the fire began scrambling for their weapons cursing. Gawain recovering from his shock started barking orders, throughout all of this Hermione sat in confusion, Picts, that name sounded awfully familiar, but where had she heard it before?
Before Hermione could gather her scattered thoughts all hell broke lose.
Men poured into the fire-lit camp, out from the surrounding hills, screaming battle cries and waving their blades in fury. Hermione's impression was of faces twisted in hatred and smeared, almost unrecognisable as human, with battle paint. Gawain's men and the attacking force clashed together in screech of metal on metal and flesh hitting flesh.
Hermione sat where she had been left frozen with shock and terror as she watched men hack at one another with several feet of sharp metallic death. She was no stranger to combat, having been part of the battle at the Ministry of Magic at the end of fifth year but nothing had prepared her for this. The sight of so much blood and gore, waving a wand and uttering various spells and incantations did not seem half so violent in the face of this grisly barbaric skirmish.
It was not until someone ran directly through the fire, scattering coals in every direction, that Hermione regained some of her wits. The destruction of the neat fire had thrown the campsite turned battlefield into even greater confusion, men fighting and dieing in near darkness, brightened only by the scattered coals of the dieing fire and the light of the moon. Perfect conditions, Hermione realised, for her to make an attempt at escape, she would worry about what she was going to do after she escaped when she was safely away from both the skirmish and more importantly Gawain and his men.
Hermione frantically looked around the now distorted camp site; she had seen Gawain remove the pack that contained her wand before he sat down it was vital, if she was to attempt an escape, for her to recover that wand. She did not even want to contemplate how she would survive, alone and stranded in time, without her wand to help her.
There!
Not to far from where she sat she spied her wand, still within its green velvet sheath, spilling from Gawain's now overturned pack. Hermione slowly began edging towards it, doing her best not to draw any attention to herself. Finally after much wriggling due to her still bound hands and feet Hermione reached the wand. Clasping it between her rope bound writes she brought it up to her mouth and began to work the green sheath off using her teeth.
Succeeding in freeing the wand she spat out the sheath and brought the tip of the wand, as best she could, against the rope binding her hands quietly and desperately murmuring a severing charm. Her breath whooshed out in relief as the charm worked and the ropes fell from her now free hands. Luckily the ropes hand not been so tight as to numb her hands and Hermione, thanking every deity she could think of, quickly set to work on the ropes binding her feet.
Feet now free of their binding Hermione began slowly edging away from the fight; she remained crouched as she feared that standing would draw to much attention to herself. She had carefully taken note of the camps layout as Gawain and his men had settled in on the chance she might find an opportunity to escape, Hermione stifled a near hysterical laugh as she heard a gurgling dieing scream, well she had been provided with an opportunity for escape alright that is if she didn't get killed in the crossfire first.
The camp had been nestled in a hollow between two hills at the edge of the woods, sentries been placed around the raised hillside to watch for attack. There was only one way of leaving the camp that did not require ascending a hill, something which was sure to make her clearly visible to the combatants. This was by following the stream that slipped through a narrow crevice to continue onwards down the slope of the hill, approaching this crevice was not a problem as Gawain, whether through cockiness or simple oversight had placed Hermione quite near the escape route.
Hermione by this time had worked herself completely into the shadows surrounding the crevices opening, throwing one last terrified glance at the now blood covered fighting men she turned her back and slipped through the opening. She was careful no to slip into the stream; she did not want the splashing to alert anyone to her escape.
Emerging from the gap between the two hills Hermione paused momentarily to catch her breath and reveal in her freedom, then, without a thought for the consequences, she dashed recklessly into the woods bordering the stream. She ran through the tangled oppressive darkness, determined to put as much distance between herself and the skirmish as possible.
After running for what seemed like hours, though in truth it probably wasn't very long at all Hermione was not the most athletic of people and the long skirts of her somewhat the worse for wear dress were hindering her progress, Hermione paused in a moonlit clearing to catch her breath.
Her heart was hammering and she could feel the sweat, both from fear and exertion, dampening her body. She was alone, and while been alone in the middle of the woods at night was not her usual notion of security at this moment Hermione felt like falling to her knees in relief.
She would have done just that if it wasn't for the fact that she was not in actual fact alone, a stray Pict had noticed her escape from the camp and, seeing an opportunity for some fun with an obviously noble British Lady, had stealthily followed her flight away from the camp. Now was the time to make his move as, he judged sinisterly to himself, they were now far enough away from anyone who was likely to come to her aid if they heard her screams.
A scream tore itself from Hermione's throat at as heavy weight slammed into her, bearing her body to the ground. She stared in horror at the war painted face poised above her, he was speaking in a rough guttural language that she did not understand his intent, however, Hermione realised was perfectly clear and she began to fiercely struggle against his restraining limbs.
She did not waste her breath trying to speak to someone who was unlikely to understand her or care if they did, instead she concentrated her efforts of freeing the arm the held her wand. Hermione twisted her head away as he lowered his head to her own, his fetid breath wafting over her face making her want to gag. His hands were roughly scrambling at her clothes and Hermione was for once grateful to be wearing the complicated voluminous green dress. If she had been clothed in her standard school uniform she feared it all would have already been over.
At last, just as his hand had found its way under her skirt and was making its way up her leg, Hermione freed the arm holding her wand she aimed it at him preparing to shout a curse. Too late she noticed the knife in his hand, as she shouted stupefy the force of the curse throwing him off her body; she felt a blinding pain in her right shoulder, the arm holding her wand.
Unsteadily Hermione rose to her feet wand outstretched despite the agony this action caused, her other hand was unconsciously pressed to her wand arms shoulder. Against all odds the man she had cursed was already stirring, clambering to his feet and shaking his head repeatedly as if to shake off the effects of her spell.
Hermione felt despair well up inside her as he began making his way towards her again, she would not last through a second round, especially since he now knew what her wand could do and would doubtless take it away from her. Of course if she was lucky he would, rather than raping her, now apprehend her as a witch and have her burnt at the stake. If she was even in a time when they did burn witches at the stake, if she was in a time before witch burnings she might be kept as a slave and be made to cast magic for him and his people.
Just as Hermione opened her mouth to attempt another spell and the Pict began to lunge in her direction another person entered the scene. This new person slammed into the Pict bearing him to the ground at Hermione's feet, the two figures struggling back and forth. Whimpering, her vision starting to turn hazy she stumbled a few steps away from the struggling figures.
The hand holding her wand lowered and she brought the hand that had been pressing down on her shoulder up to her face. The hand was stained red, completely covered in a shiny wet substance, visible even in the darkness. Hermione regarded the hand in confusion, as if it did not belong to her, why was her hand drenched in a slimy red sticky substance? How had that happened?
"My Lady?" A gentle voice questioned, Hermione raised her eyes to find the second stranger standing in front of her. Automatically she cast her eyes around for the first man, the one with the painted face, the one who had attacked her. She found him lying on the ground behind the stranger, his eyes were open, blankly gazing at the sky, he was dead Hermione slowly realised his throat was cut a gruesome red smile across his neck.
The second man, the stranger who had saved her subtly moved in order to block her view of the dead man. She couldn't make out his features in the near darkness only that he was tall and broad shouldered with shoulder length dark hair.
"My Lady?" He asked again, "Are you injured?"
Hermione opened her mouth to reply that of course she wasn't and did he realise that you couldn't just go around killing people, no matter how much they might deserve it? No sound passed her lips and her eyes moved again to her wet red hand, everything was starting to become rather hazy and the pain in her shoulder really was quiet unbearable. Maybe, maybe she was injured, but if that was the case then the red substance on her hand must be blood, her blood and she couldn't possibly have lost that much blood. Could she?
With that last confused thought Hermione did something quiet out of character, she swayed and the stranger moved forwards to catch her as she fainted into his arms.
THE PRESENT
Harry watched frozen as the last traces of blue fire faded from the stone circle, leaving the centre quiet empty of its previous occupants.
Hermione was gone.
No trace of either her or her abductor remained; Harry stared in disbelief at the place his best friend should have been standing. He didn't understand how this had happened, no more than an hour ago he and Ron had been waiting in the common room for Hermione to go to the Halloween Ball.
Ron, Harry's eyes widened in remembrance and he turned and rushed to the fallen red-head's side. Ron was lying silent and still in the corridor his limbs splayed haphazardly where he had landed after he slid down the wall. Harry was relieved to note that his friends breathing was even and steady; he had just been knocked unconscious it seemed.
As he watched Ron began to stir moaning in pain as he returned to consciousness, he slowly sat up rubbing his head. Harry moved forwards to help his friend supporting him as he regained his wits.
"Harry?" He mumbled confused as he looked around dazedly. "What are we doing in the dungeons?"
"What is the last thing you remember?" Harry asked his friend earnestly, dreading having to tell him about Hermione's disappearance.
"The… Ball… Hermione… HERMIONE!" Ron suddenly exclaimed sitting bolt upright and looking around frantically. "Where is she Harry? Please tell me you managed to save her?"
"She's gone Ron." Harry said hanging his head in shame.
"What do you mean gone?" Ron asked loudly. "She can't be gone, she was right here and she's told us herself a thousand times that you can't disapparate off Hogwarts grounds."
"I don't think she took into account ancient stone circles mate." Harry said quietly, as he spoke a grinding sound filled the air and as the boys watched the wall began to close over the opening to the chamber containing the stone circle.
"You mean that guy that had her… he used an old pile of stones to take Hermione somewhere?" Ron asked sceptically.
"A stone circle Ron." Harry said exasperated. "Even muggles have stories about how magical they're supposed to be.
"Yeah, but that sort of magic's only in legend." Ron said impatiently. "Nobody uses ancient ruins like that in magic anymore; I don't think anyone knows how."
"Well, someone obviously does." Harry said grimly. "Because Hermione's gone and whoever it was that took her used that stone circle to do it."
"What do we do?" Ron asked in a very small voice, "We have to help her."
"Well first we should mark this section of wall so we don't forget where the opening is, then…" Harry paused. "Then we need to go see Professor Dumbledore." Since the events of fifth year Harry had lost his blind faith in the Headmaster, the fact that he was willing to go straight to the old wizard with this problem showed just how serious he felt it was. "Are you okay to walk?" He asked Ron helping the redhead to his feet.
"I'm okay to run." Ron replied grimly. Using his wand Harry marked the section of wall with a glittering red X so they would not lose the spot. Then both bys set out at a dead sprint back through the passageways of the dungeons to find Professor Dumbledore and hopefully help for their friend.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter, if you did please review! Expect the next chap in about a week.