Enojoy!
Chapter Two: In Which Hermione Meets Mordred and Destiny is Changed.
Hermione waited with baited breath for a week until the full moon. It came and went and she didn't hear howling in the wind nor people screaming, and the next morning the people were calm. Hermione hoped that the reason she didn't hear any news was because Greyback was very dead or dying, and not because he was bidding his time and healing his wounds.
She was surprised to find that she quite enjoyed living in the forest when it didn't involve running for her life. It reminded her of the days her family went camping to the Forest of Dean, only this time camping became her permanent dwelling. She learned that the Druids used a rudimentary set of wards around the perimeter to protect and conceal their camp, and she itched to improve upon them by using the ones she knew that were more advance and more effective. When she suggested it, however, the Elder was clear that her help was not needed, so she didn't push.
The Druids welcomed her without too many questions and, because she was alone, they placed her with another young Druid around her age and her mother. The girl's name was Aida. She was bubbly, dreamy eyed, and from the way she talked Hermione assumed that this girl's goal in life was to find a good husband and raise a good family. It reminded Hermione oddly of how Lavender and Parvati would always gossip around their Witch Weakley, debating on which wizard would be best to date.
Her mother reminded her terribly of Mrs. Weasley with how she fretted around her when Hermione first arrived. Her name was Adeline and she insisted to be the one personally supervising Hermione's recovery from her wounds. She applied ointments around the bruises in her neck and provided lukewarm teas infused with herbs to stimulate the recovery of her vocal chords. She regularly changed the bandages on the gashes Hermione had around her midsection from when Greyback ripped away her clothes, and when she reached the cursed wound on her arm which spell that horrible slurred, she cried on her behalf.
Adeline soon discovered that the wound in her arm was not inflicted by just a normal blade and walked with Hermione to the healer, an older woman by the name of Agrona. Agrona took one look at the wound and declared that it was cursed. She attempted to heal it with magic, but any and all attempts only resulted in making the wound bleed, as if the curse reversed the effects of the healing spells. In the end, the healer gave her an ointment imbued with healing herbs but without magic, hoping that it would eventually close the wound. In the meantime, Hermione had to clean and redress the wound every day in the morning and in the evening.
For the first month after her arrival, Hermione was left to rest and heal. On the fourth week of her stay, the Elder deemed her fit enough so that she could start doing some mild chores, like cooking lunch and supper, gathering herbs and helping the old healer in anything she might need. It was with Agrona that Hermione took initiative and helped with ingredient preparation. Agrona was so impressed with how delicately she chopped the wormwood root and how meticulously she skinned the shrivelfigs, that she asked Hermione to brew a couple of potions all on her own.
Having trained under the eye of Severus Snape, Hermione's brewing was careful, methodical and as perfect as she could make it. It was more in spite of Professor Snape rather than because, but the results still impressed Agrona enough that Hermione's main chore became to assist the old lady in her potion making. Soon, word spread around the camp that Hermione might become the next healer of the camp.
The second full moon soon approached and Hermione's sense of dread grew along with it. Her guilt at having brought such a dangerous monster back to medieval England didn't help matters. The week leading up to it she woke up screaming and covered in cold sweat to Aida and Adeline's fretting. She tried to brush it off, but she couldn't keep her torture a secret forever, not that they hadn't suspected before what with her wounds. The second full moon came and went, and again, Hermione heard nothing. Instead of making her feel relief, a deep anxiety settled in her heart and in the back of her head as she waited for something, anything, to happen.
On the meantime, however, she settled into a routine. She was given more extraneous chores like curing animal skin for leather or washing the linens when it became clear she could handle it, and Hermione was more than happy to pay back to a community which had accepted her without question. Midway through her second month with the druids, Agrona asked Hermione if she wanted to become her apprentice.
Hermione, being Hermione, jumped at the opportunity to learn something new. Knowing that her apprenticeship would also include learning healing spells made it all the better. Since that first night in Camelot she hadn't had much of a chance to experiment with this new form of magic. She felt a bit self-conscious and unsure, because all the adults around her seemed to instinctively know how to use it, and this would give her the perfect excuse to ask questions.
As she settled more and more into a medieval setting, Hermione couldn't help but long for the time she grew up in. While she certainly missed modern commodities like plumbing and electricity, she mostly missed the people she grew up with. First on her list were Harry and Ron, and her worry about the gnawed at her conscience all the time. Then came her parents, who she had to admit she had taken for granted and now regretted it. How many times had she foregone spending time with them in order to stay at Hogwarts, or at the Burrow, or at Grimmauld Place? How many Christmases and New Years had she brushed off their attempts at trying to get to know her? Even in the summer when she went back home, she'd spent most of her time reading the coursework for next year rather than go with her mother to the cinema or help his father prepare dinner. She hadn't even noticed how far apart they had drifted until now, when she tried to recall meaningful experiences with them after her trip to France before her second year at Hogwarts.
There were people she saw everywhere, even in Medieval Times, like Lavender or Parvati in Aida, Mrs. Weasley in Adeline, Professor Sprout in Agrona, Professor Dumbledore in the Elder, and so many more. It was like she couldn't escape them even a thousand years into the past. But she squared her shoulders and swallowed her tears, trying to make the best out of a bad situation. She accepted the apprenticeship gracefully, thankful to have something that would distract her.
As the months progressed in similar fashion, Hermione stopped dreading the week of the full moon, and the people she interacted with stopped being ghosts of the past to became their own people in her eyes. For example, she learned that Aida yearned to get married to escape her mother's constant fretting, as Adeline had never quite recovered from her husband's execution and felt the need to almost possessively watch over Aida. Or that the Elder was an actual seer, not the farce Trewlaney had been at Hogwarts. Or that Agrona used to have a family, but that they were all killed during the Great Purge.
It was very interesting to Hermione that a genocide of such large proportions had never made it into the history books. Actually, she corrrected herself, there were Roman records that a group they called Druids had been exterminated on the basis that they were cannibals. Whether future historians were talking about the same genocide as the Great Purge and the same group of people called Druids, Hermione couldn't know... after all, even in this time period, the Romans were already gone from the Britsh Isles. Then again, history was written by the victors, so if King Uther Pendragon had anything to say about it, he would pretend magic had never existed.
In regards to her magic, the more she practiced with Agrona the healing spells she taught her, the easier it became for her to call on this form of wandless magic. The words of the dragon echoed in her mind. If magic was so easily accessible now, what happened to make it so unreachable in the future? She also noticed that it came almost naturally to her, as she channeled her intentions through her body and the right words spilled out of her mouth. She had to admit, though, it was a bit unnerving. Almost as if magic were alive.
She was also very much surprised to find that not every druid in the camp had magic. Hermione found herself wishing such peaceful coexistence was possible in a larger scale.
To commemorate her apprenticeship, she was given the druid tattoo.
"This tattoo will protect you among our people, wherever they may find you. It will also put you in danger outside of our communities, for there are some people who would kill us even when we've done no wrong," the Elder had told her right after he'd given her the tattoo.
Hermione nodded solemnly, understanding that people like Uther Pendragon would use the tattoo as the evidence of her wickedness and sentence her to burn at the pyre without any semblance of a trial. When she asked Agrona about it, she said that it was related to the prophecy of the Once and Future King, for it was said that his fall would come at the hands of a druid. Hermione snorted; of course King Uther Pendragon would fashion himself the Once and Future King. At least the legends got his utter arrogance right. On the other hand, it did put the statue of secrecy into perspective.
As time went on, and Hermione settled more into her medieval life, she found herself feeling content. Not quite happy, but the yearning and longing of the early days after her arrival diminished to allow her to bask in the beauty of a sunset, to appreciate a funny joke, to feel wonder at the new things she learned like that first time she visited Diagon Alley and to enjoy learning magic for the sake of learning magic. She didn't have to find the next spell that would kill Voldemort, or which would help them kill Hororcruxes, or which would allow Harry to come out of another battle unscathed. It was refreshing, but it did make Hermione feel guilty, too.
The only downside was that the druids didn't have books. In fact, all their knowledge was transmitted orally from one generation to the next, and they didn't use any form of writing instrument, except to send messages between camps. It made for people with wonderfully long memories, but Hermione was afraid she'd forget everything overnight. She also missed books. There was nothing like the smell of an old book when you opened it, or the feel of the pages under your fingers when you turned the page, or just losing yourself in the words.
One day near dusk, nearly five months since her arrival, as the camp was settling to eat their supper, the Elder stepped forward with a grave face.
"I wish I brought better news, but alas, it is not meant to be. One of our fellow druids and his son were captured in Camelot a few days ago. The father was executed just yesterday morning, and soon, the son will be executed too. I urge all of you to pray for the safe passing of their souls to the Other World. Pray that their souls may find in death the rest they couldn't find in life."
The people around the fire closed their eyes, inclined their heads, and murmured their prayers. Some didn't eat at all that night, deciding to show their grief by fasting. Others ate only bread and water. Hermione felt her appetite abandon her, even when she wasn't an overly religious person. She found herself hoping that the father and the son would find peace. The next morning she approached the Elder.
"How old was the boy?" she asked with a heavy heart.
"He was only eleven," the Elder answered and Hermione looked back on her own eleventh birthday. That was such an eventful year for her. Had it really been only six years ago? What would she have felt like if, instead of being happy, her parents had been angry and hateful? What would she have felt like if they had built a pyre to burn her? Or sent her to a psychiatric hospital? Tears came unbidden to her eyes when she thought of the fear the young boy must be feeling.
"Perhaps I could sneak in and save him," Hermione, always the Gryffindor, volunteered.
"Then you would die with him as well," the Elder said, shaking his head, "we can only pray that his passing is peaceful."
The rest of the day passed in a somber mood. They were lucky that they were just past the border with Camelot, otherwise they would be targets to Uther's tyranny. Hermione felt conflicted; she knew that she was guest on this time and anything she did to alter the predetermined events would have unnamed and dire consequences in the future, yet she didn't want to just sit still and let people die. Back in the future she'd been fighting against the tyranny of a wizard who wanted to eradicate muggles, and now she lived in a time where a muggle tyrant wanted to exterminate wizards. Being both, Hermione felt a despair she'd never felt before. Would she ever be wanted somewhere?
They were preparing for bed when Hermione saw the Elder approach her fast. He grabbed her arm and led her to where Iseldir was standing with another druid, a man named Dival.
"I have received a message from Mordred," the Elder started.
"Mordred?" Hermione asked, in disbelief. How many Modreds could there be in the Arthurian times? She hoped there were lots.
"Yes, the boy who was captured," the Elder clarified, believing her confusion stemmed from not recognizing the name, "he's told me he was smuggled out by Emrys and the prince of Camelot."
"Who's Emrys?" Hermione asked, feeling like she should know this by now.
"Later, child," the Elder chastised, and Hermione forced herself to comply and listen, "he's on his way here right now, but they will not be able to find the camp. I want you three to go meet him and bring him home."
The three of them bowed to the Elder and started walking through the woods in the direction the Elder pointed them.
"Who's Emrys?" Hermione asked Dival as they walked one step behind Iseldir.
"He is the most powerful warlock to have ever, and who will ever, live. According to the prophecies, he is the one who will guide the Once and Future King to unite all of Albion in peace and bring back magic to the land," Dival answered.
Hermione had never heard of this in the legends, but then again the legends painted Merlin almost as Arthur's grandfather. Still, she was tired of people relying on prophecies to dictate their lives. It was one stupid prophecy which ruined Harry's life, and by proxy, Sirius's and Remus's, and now they had to rely on another. Only once she head of King Arthur referred to as the Once and Future King. Well, a thousand years into the future and he was still dead.
Iseldir stopped walking and Hermione stopped one step behind him next to Dival.
Soon, they heard the gallops of a horse, and Prince Arthur came into view through the fog. He dismounted his horse and helped Mordred down. Hermione had the bizarre sensation of being a witness to history right then and there.
"We are forever indebted to you, Arthur Pendragon, for returning the boy to us," Iseldir said once Mordred started walking towards them and was within reach.
"You must not let it be known that it was I who brought him to you," Arthur replied.
"We will tell no one," Iseldir assured, "you have my word."
They nodded to each other, and slowly they turned towards the camp, bringing Mordred with them.
Just then Arthur looked at Iseldir's companions, and recognized Hermione, whose cloak wasn't enough to cover all of her face.
"You!" he exclaimed.
Hermione, put on the spot, immediately bowed low, "My lord."
"We looked for you for days! Why didn't you tell us you were a druid?" Arthur asked, forgetting himself.
"And face execution the same way his father has?" Hermione retorted, "I couldn't tell you where I was from."
"If you had nothing to hide, why did you run away?" Arthur retorted.
"Have I harmed you in any way, sire?" Hermione asked instead, "Have I threatened Camelot?"
"No, you haven't, but…"
"Then I don't have to answer to you, your highness," Hermione interrupted, "good night."
And just like that, the three druids turned like one and disappeared into the fog. They walked back to camp in silence, not quite knowing what to say. What could they say? When they arrived back at the camp they found most people awake. News of Mordred's arrival had spread and they were eager to welcome him into his new home.
Mordred himself seemed a bit unsure of his place in this new camp, and he sat by the fire in a log. Hermione got him some left-over bread, which was a bit hard, and some reheated stew. He ate as if he hadn't had the chance in days and Hermione felt a pang in her heart. Gradually people retreated into their tents, which was fair because Hermione was sure it was past midnight, but Hermione found she couldn't leave the child alone. Instead, she waited until he finished his food.
She wondered if she'd looked quite that vulnerable when she first arrived to Hogwarts.
Mordred soon finished his food and turned to look at her with a furrowed brow.
"You didn't have to sit with me," he said, looking into the fire.
"I didn't want you to be alone," Hermione replied.
"Thank you," Mordred said, as if he didn't know what else to say. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes, in which neither of the parties knew how to proceed.
"Don't you want to go to sleep?" Hermione asked, "You must be tired."
"I don't think I can sleep just yet," Mordred answered.
"Then I'll stay with you until you can."
He turned to look at her then. "What about your parents?"
"My parents are dead," Hermione said with a wince.
"I'm sorry," Mordred apologized.
"I'm sorry for your loss as well," Hermione replied, "maybe we can send word to your mom. Tell her you're safe."
"My mom died when I was little," Mordred said, "that's why I went to Camelot with my father. And now he's dead too."
He sniffled, and Hermione didn't know what to do. She didn't have any younger siblings so she didn't know how to comfort a child, especially not when she didn't like to cry at all. But she put a tentative hand on his shoulder, and Mordred appeared to have taken that as permission to hug her, where he continued to cry. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around him and rocked him until he fell asleep.
Hermione didn't know if this was the boy who was fated to kill King Arthur, but she really didn't care. She only saw a boy who was grieving the unfair loss of his father at the hands of a tyrant king. She didn't believe in prophecies anyway.
Yet, Hermione thought in the back of her head, if Mordred did end up killing King Arthur, she wouldn't blame him.
Back in Camelot, Arthur arrived to a disgruntled Merlin.
"How did it go?" his manservant asked wringing his hands.
"Clearly, it went well Merlin, or else, I wouldn't be here," Arthur retorted with an eye-roll.
"Your father is furious. He summoned you to his chambers, but I told him you weren't feeling well. Gaius corroborated the story, saying you were throwing up all night," Merlin commented.
"Well, I clearly look the part of a sleep deprived prince," Arthur said with a sigh, plopping down on the chair. Just then, there was a knock on the door.
"Quick, take your shirt off," Merlin said, going to the door, while Arthur very hastily threw his shirt to the floor and changed his trousers. To complete the picture, he sat on the chair and put his head between his knees, where Merlin had very cleverly put a bucket. Not that he would say that to him, of course.
The king strode in, walking all over Merlin and his excuses, determined to find his missing son and the culprit of freeing the boy. Much to his surprise, and embarrassment, he found the prince gagging over a bucket so convincingly that Merlin looked very disgusted thinking he would have to clean that.
"Arthur, your manservant tells me you've been ill," Uther said, trying to hide his surprise. The prince himself only raised his head to look at the king with dead eyes. The bag under them were prominent, so clearly Arthur had been up all night. Suddenly, the king felt bad for causing his son distress on top of his illness, believing that someone else must have freed the boy. "I hope you feel better," the king added lamely, before striding out of the room.
Merlin closed the door behind him, rushing towards Arthur.
"You're not really throwing up, are you?" he asked, clearly disgusted.
"No, you idiot," Arthur said, miraculously recovered and glaring at his manservant, "but you said I was ill and I had to look the part."
Merlin looked mildly impressed, "I never knew you could act."
"And I never knew you could lie your way out of something, but here we are," the prince walked over to his bed, fully intending on getting back his hours of sleep, "maybe tomorrow I'll be able to sleep until later if father really believed your story."
"Thank you, Arthur," Merlin said, "for helping the boy."
"Mordred," Arthur replied, "his name is Mordred."
"Right," Merlin said, hesitant, "good night, sire."
"Merlin," Arthur called back, prompting the manservant to stop halfway through his exit and turn around, "Hermione was there to greet us."
"Hermione?" Merlin asked, wide-eyed, "Did she say anything?"
"Yes, she said she didn't want to be executed like the boy's father, so she ran away," Arthur answered.
Merlin wasn't convinced, but he still nodded and left Arthur to catch up on his sleep. The next morning the king effectively allowed his son to recover a few hours of sleep, but nowhere near enough in Arthur's mind. Yet, his duties as prince were never over it seemed.
The next morning, Merlin relied the information back to Gaius.
"She's no druid," Gaius scoffed, "but I'm sure they welcomed her with open arms when they heard her plight."
"But what is her plight, Gaius?" Merlin asked, "she comes here claiming the man who attacked her was a werewolf, and his body vanished, so we can't know if she was telling the truth or if it was a ruse. Yet, she never did anything with that distraction. I was sure she'd gone to kill the king, or Arthur, when I woke up that day and I didn't find her, but she hadn't. She just… left Camelot to live with the druids. Something doesn't make sense here."
"While your deductive skills are impressive, Merlin, I don't think she ever wanted to come to Camelot," Gaius said in a placating manner, "if her magic was unstable at the time of her attack, she probably arrived here by mistake. You and the knights brought her here. As soon as she heard where she was, she ran away, probably in fear of her life, because that's what sorcerers who have done no wrong tend to do to survive."
"How can you be so sure?" Merlin asked, still hesitant to believe things could be that easy.
"Because, my boy, I lived through the Great Purge," Gaius answered, "most people didn't want revenge on the royal family, they wanted to leave, and they escaped to the surrounding kingdoms."
"It still doesn't make sense," Merlin complained.
"It doesn't have to make sense to you," Gaius replied, "now eat your porridge."
Back at the camp, Hermione was looking over a sleeping Mordred.
"He'll be alright," Aida told her, bringing her some breakfast, "we've all lost someone."
"Doesn't mean it will be easy for him," Hermione retorted.
"You're right, Hermione, but worrying about him like this won't help him," Aida countered.
"Who'll worry if I don't? He doesn't have a mother, his father was killed just days ago, and now he's surrounded by strangers," Hermione said, "he needs someone to look after him."
"It seems as if you speak from experience," Aida said, narrowing her eyes. Despite constant insistence, she was no closer to discovering Hermione's past than she was at the beginning. She was a good girl, but awfully private. She didn't even gossip.
"I know what you're doing, and it won't work," Hermione rolled her eyes, "but to answer your question, I did know someone who lost his parents when he was a baby. No one was there to look after him, so he felt he had to everything on his own, even if it put him in danger."
Aida raised an eyebrow, "Like what?"
"Well, when I was Mordred's age, I was attacked by a troll. This kid, my best friend, fought against the troll so that I could escape," Hermione recounted, feeling a pang in her heart for Harry. Aida gasped.
"Did he survive?" her friend asked.
Yes, Hermione thought, but she answered: "No," What use was it to say Harry had survived if she would never see him again and really couldn't divulge more information? "but I've always wondered what it would have been like if he had had parents to protect him from himself."
"I'm sorry," Aida whispered.
"Don't be," Hermione tried to smile, "it was a long time ago."
"I shouldn't have asked."
"You were curious."
"Still."
They stayed in silence, watching over the sleeping Mordred together.
"You would be a great mother," Aida suddenly said. Hermione choked on air.
"A mother? Me?"
"Who else, silly? You are old enough to marry, if you want, and I know a couple of people who would like the opportunity to have a family with you."
"Now you're being silly," Hermione said blushing, "there's no one who would like to marry me."
"I disagree, but it is your choice in the end," Aida said, standing up and leaving to do her chores, which reminded Hermione of her own duties with the healer. She sighed. She had never seriously thought about marriage; she was seventeen for goodness sake. Eighteen if she added the extra third year with the time turner. She first had wanted to have a successful career before even thinking about marriage and kids. Now, she didn't have a choice but marriage and kids, as there was little else for women in the middle ages to do.
"I'll be back soon, Mordred," Hermione whispered, before leaving to meet the healer. Hermione groaned, knowing she would get scolded for being late.
It was well past midday when Mordred came out of the tent. He still seemed lost within the camp, unsure, but rest had done him well. He came out and walked to Hermione, who was tending to the scrapes of a couple of children. She was smiling at them, and Mordred felt a surge of warmth for this stranger who'd stayed with him and held him until he fell asleep. He called to her.
Hermione.
She startled, and looked around. When she saw him, she smiled, and again, Mordred was overcome with a warmth he'd didn't think he'd ever experience again. He wondered if this is what it would have been like to have a mother looking out for him... or an older sister. She stood up from where she was tending to the children and walked towards him.
"Mordred," she said, "would you like some lunch? It should still be warm."
Mordred nodded. She seemed to understand his reluctance to speak and she didn't pressure him. As they walked to the fire where some leftover food was being kept warm, he grabbed her hand. She didn't pull away; if anything, she squeezed tighter.
She gave him a generous portion and once again sat with him while he ate. After a while, he told her something that had been bothering him for a while.
"I met Emrys in Camelot. Other people call him Merlin."
Hermione hummed, "I met him once."
"I called to him for help. He saved my life," Mordred frowned, "but afterwards he almost let me get caught by the guards."
"I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose," Hermione replied.
"He did," Mordred retorted, "I was calling him and he didn't answer. He didn't want to save me."
Hermione sighed, and looked around the camp for eavesdroppers, "How much do you know about the prophecies?"
"Only that Emrys will bring back magic along with the Once and Future King," Mordred answered in a small voice.
"Do you know the ending to that prophecy?" Hermione asked, and Mordred shook his head because his mouth was full, "the prophecy states that the Once and Future King will fall at the hands of a druid, preventing Albion from becoming a reality."
Mordred's hand stopped halfway to his mouth and he dropped it back in his lap. He looked at Hermione with wide eyes, filled with dread and fear. Hermione instantly regretted telling him about the prophecy.
"Did he think that druid is me?" Mordred asked, his voice trembling.
"Maybe, if he knows the prophecies," Hermione answered, trying to avoid encouraging Mordred's train of thought.
Mordred snorted and looked into the fire, though his gaze seemed far away, "He didn't even recognize his own name when I called out to him."
Hermione thought of the dragon she met that night, "Then someone else must have told him something."
"Do you think I'm the druid who will kill the prince?" Mordred asked her then and boy, was that a loaded question.
And yet, looking into his eyes, which trusted her, she knew she could never lie to him. And while she knew that the legends claimed Mordred killed King Arthur, they also claimed Mordred was Arthur's son.
"There is something called a self-fulfilling prophecy," Hermione explained, trying to put into words why she'd always considered Divination to be total rubbish, "I had a friend who was prophesied to kill an evil wizard. The evil wizard heard half of the prophecy, and in his haste to prevent it, he made it happened. If he had never acted on it, the prophecy might have become void. Prophecies show us parts of the future that could happen, but they are not set in stone. If you believe you will kill the future king, then everything you do will serve that purpose."
Mordred's eyes widened, and the hope in there was unmistakable, "Are you a seer?"
"Gosh, no, of course not," Hermione scoffed, "I don't believe much in prophecies myself. If I had been the evil wizard and I had heard the prophecy, I would have disregarded it, and as such it would have never come to pass."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why don't you believe in prophecies?" Mordred repeated.
"Because I believe in making my own destiny," Hermione answered, "I choose where I want to go, and those decisions will shape my path."
Mordred nodded then, a determined look in his eyes replacing that awful fear from earlier.
"In that case, I choose not to kill prince Arthur, to whom I'm indebted. I will not kill anyone."
Hermione beamed at him. It was very easy in that moment to forget about the legends when she was looking at this adorable child declare with such innocent certainty that he would not be a killer. It was also very easy to forget for a second that she came from the future, and that giving Mordred this information might have unforeseen and undesirable consequences. Instead of dwelling on such things, she stood up and held out her hand to Mordred, who took it without hesitation.
"Come on, Mordred, Iseldir wanted to talk to you about your chores," Hermione said, and Mordred, finally acting like an eleven-year-old, groaned, complained and whined all the way there.
In the month that passed, Hermione was very pleased to see Mordred coming out of his shell a bit more. He started a tentative friendship with a girl named Kara, he did his chores dutifully even if he whined about them, and he started participating in the evening songs around the campfire. Every meal, however, he would only sit next to her, not that she minded of course.
At the end of the month, the Elder summoned Hermione to his tent.
"We have an urgent message to rely to a brethren camp in Essetir. You will be our envoy," the Elder said.
Hermione bowed her head and said respectfully, "I'm sure there are more experienced druids who could..."
"It must be you," the Elder insisted, "take Dival with you. He already knows of this assignment. You leave at once."
Hermione knew a dismissal when it was given. She took the sealed parchment and left without further arguing her point. She still felt unsure about the task, but if the Elder had personally ordered her to do so, it became an obligation. She quickly found Mordred to rely the news to him. Predictably, he whined.
"But why must it be you?" he asked.
"It is an honor to be chosen as an envoy to a brethren camp, and you would do well to remember it," Hermione said firmly, "I'll be back later. Be good. If I hear you misbehaved..."
Hermione left the sentence hanging hoping that Mordred really wouldn't do anything to call her bluff. She had no experience in child rearing, but she had always found spanking barbaric. She pushed those thoughts out of her head and went to look for Dival, who already had the supplies they were going to trade and was standing next to another man that Hermione had seen around but didn't really talk to.
It was a bit awkward to be introduced after so many months of living in close quarters with him.
"Hermione," she said with a nod.
"Alaric," he introduced himself with a nod as well.
"Dival," the older man said, and with that, they were off.
They walked for a little while before the two men with her stopped.
"Why did we stop?" Hermione asked.
"You didn't think we'd walk all the way there, did you? It would take us months!" Dival said with a chuckle. Even Alaric smiled. Hermione, still getting used to this new form of magic, didn't answer. Alaric and Dival were holding hands and waiting for her in their circle, so she held Alaric's right hand and Dival's left, and pop, they disapparated.
After months of not feeling the pull on her navel and the squeezing through a straw of normal apparition, this crude, rudimentary form of apparition had her retching.
"The first time is always the worst," Dival said, "you'll get used to it."
"You could have warned me," Hermione admonished, bringing her hand up to clean the mess around her mouth. Alaric, however, presented her with a handkerchief before she could, which she gratefully took with a smile.
"Thank you," she said.
Alaric blushed but nodded.
"So, where are we?" Hermione asked, finally.
"We are in Essetir. Our brethren camp is right over here."
Hermione rolled her eyes, and said, "I know we are in Essetir, but where is it located in relation to our camp?"
"Oh," Dival said, but it was Alaric who answered.
"It's on the other side of Camelot. Caerleon lies to the West, while Essetir lies to the East. The wards prevent us from transporting into their camp," Alaric chuckled, "because one time a brother druid transported himself right into the stew."
Hermione smiled, "I'm sure it was very funny."
"You have no idea," Alaric replied with a smile of his own, and Hermione realized that this was the most she'd ever heard him speak. Her smile grew.
"I wish I would have been there to see it," Hermione commented.
"Oh no, you don't. We had to redo the stew so everyone had to work double," Dival complained, prompting this time Hermione to chuckle. Seriously, Dival might have been the oldest of their group, but he acted like a child most of the time.
"How does your wife put up with you?" Hermione joked.
"You know, she grounds me just like she grounds the children," Dival replied, "sometimes even more than the children. She claims they are more mature than me."
Alaric laughed, "I have no doubt that they are."
Hermione echoed the laugh and Dival grinned.
After a couple of minutes, they arrived at the familiar sight of a druid camp, where they were in the middle of preparing lunch. A middle-aged man approached them.
"Do my eyes deceive me?" he exclaimed, "Dival, my good friend, it's been so long."
Dival smiled, "Good to see you too, Tanreid. This is Alaric, and this is our envoy, Hermione."
Tanreid looked surprise, "You must sure be gifted if the Elder decided to choose you as the envoy. Come, make yourselves at home."
"Thank you, it is an honor. These are for you," Hermione said, giving Tanreid a sack full with grain, linen, and an assortment of herbs to make remedies and potions which were easier to find in Caerleon than in Essetir. Tanried thanked them and led them to the campfire, where the children were seated eagerly awaiting their meal. Hermione was reminded of Mordred.
Soon, they saw the Elder walking towards them and they stood up to greet him. They bowed to him, and he smiled.
"My name is Hermione, and our Elder sends his blessing. He also sent this," Hermione produced a letter from a pocket in her robes, "with news."
"That's interesting," the Elder commented, "it's unusual to send for an entourage of three only for news." He opened the rolled parchment and read. His expression didn't betray anything, but when he finished, he gestured for them to follow him.
"Not you, just Hermione," the Elder clarified. Dival and Alaric immediately complied, going to help the rest of the camp with lunch. Hermione, confused and a bit alarmed, followed the Elder into the tent.
"This letter says that you are very gifted in magic, and show incredible control, yet you are not from any of our druid brethren clans," the Elder started.
Hermione felt the usual rock in her stomach when it came to talking about her past… or her future. "No, I'm not."
"Is there a reason why you refuse to tell us where you came from?" the Elder pressed.
"Yes, there are a couple of reasons. The first one is, that despite your knowledge in magic, you might simply not believe what I tell you. The second one is that my mere presence here is changing something, and I would like to avoid making a bigger mess by telling anyone about it," Hermione explained. During the short time she'd lived with the druids, she'd discovered that they would accept almost anything as long as it was the truth. Yet, she didn't want to reveal the truth to them, and she hoped her reasons would satisfy the Elder.
"So, you are admitting that you came here through magical means?" the Elder asked.
"Yes, but it was an accident," Hermione argued, "I mean you no harm."
"This letter also says that the prophecies have changed," the Elder continued, "in all my years, it has never happened that a prophecy changes. New prophecies that intertwined are normal, even expected, but one prophecy changing is unheard of."
"What prophecy?" Hermione asked with trepidation.
"It was seen a long time ago that Emrys would help the Once and Future King unite Albion and bring in a new era of prosperity for all its inhabitants. This has come to be interpreted as bringing back magic and, therefore, balance to the land. Only one is there to oppose and jeopardize this new golden era, and that is a young druid by the name of Mordred who will join the witch Morgana in evil when he grows up. But now, Mordred has a choice. He can choose to join Morgana in evil or…" the Elder opened the parchment and read from it, "the witch of light who came through the sands of time." The Elder fixed Hermione with an undecipherable look that made her uncomfortable.
"You mean me?" Hermione asked.
"That's what we're trying to find out," the Elder answered, "you were not born a druid, even though it would have been the safest place for you to grow up with a talent such as yours. When was the first time you remember doing magic?"
"I was four," Hermione answered, "my mother wasn't paying attention to me, but I wanted a toy. It floated up to me."
The Elder nodded, "Despite this, you show incredible control and command of your magic, which means you have been taught. Who's your teacher?"
"I had a lot of teachers," Hermione said, "but that's all I can say."
"You don't have to tell me where you come from; we learned a long time ago to respect people's secret. However, if you think this prophecy applies to you, you must tell me."
Hermione nodded, "I think it might."
"Very well," the Elder said, and then he sat down in front of her, "I was a child when my teacher sat me down and explained to me about the prophecies of old. It was with a grave heart that he explained that a druid would be the downfall of the Once and Future King. He learned it from his teacher, who learned it from his, who was a seer. You do not belong here in this era, but you have given us hope that Mordred will not forfeit his peaceful ways and seek the death of the Once and Future King. If you succeed on this, we and the entire magical community will be indebted to you."
Hermione shook her head, reeling from this information. This went against everything she'd been taught.
"But you said it yourself; I'm not supposed to be here. How can I meddle in these affairs without damaging the very fabric of existence?"
"Can you go back to where you came from?" the Elder asked.
"I don't know, but from the research I did back then, it shouldn't be possible," Hermione said, "and if I do find a way to go back, I will probably die within the hour of my return."
"Then this has become your home," the Elder continued, "you cannot stop yourself from interacting with the world around you. As you said, your mere presence here is changing something, but it might be for good."
"Then what am I supposed to do with what I know?" Hermione asked, a plead in her voice, "am I supposed to carry on and disregard the consequences? Am I allowed to act on it to prevent horrible things from happening in the distant future?"
"You have to be careful with your knowledge and with whom you share it," the Elder warned, "I would not recommend actively seeking change. Magic demands balance: for every life you give, another is taken somewhere else. While trying to prevent one thing from happening, another of equal magnitude could occur instead. My advice is that you live. Let things develop on their own, and they might bring about the change you seek."
Tears flooded Hermione's eyes. Part of her had clinged onto hope for a miracle that would send her back to the future without consequences. Now, it seemed to her, that hope was shriveling like an unwatered rose and it hurt more than she could have predicted. The Elder looked at her with sympathetic eyes.
"Sometimes, knowledge can be a burden," the Elder said with immense compassion, "you can't let your knowledge get in the way of your happiness. You need to learn how to take things as they come and go because even with all the knowledge in the world, there will be things you cannot control."
"But what if I ruin things?" Hermione asked, trying to stop the flow of tears.
The Elder didn't have an answer, so he left the tent to give Hermione some privacy. Hermione was grateful for this and allowed herself to cry. She was crying for all the people she'd lost and who she could never get back to, but she was also crying because suddenly she felt the overwhelming pressure on her shoulders to save the future.
It was ironic, really, because she seeked the Druids in order to distance herself from King Arthur and Merlin and the legend that revolved around them only to find herself looking after Mordred. On top of that, his fate hinged on her. How had things gotten so complicated all of the sudden?
She decided then that, just like she told Mordred when they met, that she wouldn't let a prophecy dictate her future. She would do what she thought was right, and at the moment, that meant taking care of a lonely boy who'd lost everything. She would cross the other bridges when she got to them. It was the only thing she could do, or she would go crazy with worry and apprehension.
For now, she'd look after Mordred the way she had been doing up until now. The same way Mrs. Weasley took care of Harry and her as if they were her own. The same way Adeline fretted over her when she first arrived with the Druids. Because Mordred needed her. He trusted her. And she would be dammed if she allowed herself to disappoint him.
I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. I kind of cheated by putting the scene in the second chapter as part of the summary, but I think that really sums up the story nicely. Please leave a review, a favorite or a follow to this story.
I'm trying to write as much as possible before the beginning of the school year in a week and half and all the complications that will come with that.
Until we meet again,
ClearEyes.
P.S.: I supposedly changed my username but I don't see the change. If any of you wonderful readers could tell me if the user name that you see is MedievalScribe or ClearEyes? Thank you. Have a nice day!