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Chapter 5: The Return to the Little Palace
They left an hour later. Hermione is still exhausted and does not protest as she is led into a carriage. She isn't sure where it came from but it is welcome. A quick cushioning charm and she falls asleep across from Kirigan.
Her dreams are dark, filled with flashing lights and pain. So much pain. She hears Bellatrix's laughter. There is a flash of green before she wakes up, spell on her lips and reaching instinctively for her wand.
"Hermione!"
The world comes into focus. She's out of breath and her heart feels as though it is going to burst out of her chest. She hates waking up like this. Her stomach is rolling and the movement of the carriage does not help.
She looks at Kirigan sitting across from her. "Stop the carriage. Now!"
He says something she doesn't catch with the pounding in her ears. Hermione is out of there as soon as it slows. She knows Kirigan follows but she gives him no thought. Not when the nausea is growing. She bends over and throws up before she can stop herself.
She tries to hold back her hair but all she can think about are the remnants of her nightmare. Sometimes it felt like she was never going to be free of Bellatrix. It was bad enough the woman had permanently scarred her, but she refused to let her haunt her memories.
Someone pulls back her hair.
She coughs and finally spits the last of the stomach acid. It feels as though she's been run over by a herd of hippogriffs. At least, this is close to how she imagines it. Magical exhaustion and PTSD dreams are not a good mix.
"Thanks," she says when she finally straightens.
"You're welcome," the man who escorted her into the tent for her presentation says softly. "Are you alright?"
"I will be." The answer she knows is no. She can't say that though. Not when she's supposed to be their saviour.
"It takes some getting used to," the man says with an easy smile. "Riding in a carriage." He is giving her an excuse she will gladly take with both hands. "I am Fedyor."
"Her-" she stops herself. "Maya."
"Maya," he nods. "It is a pleasure to meet you...even like this." She gives him a small smile. "May I escort you back to the carriage? When you feel ready."
"Thank you. Just...give me a minute. Please."
"Of course. Take all the time you need, Ms. Granger." He winks at her.
He knows who she is. She needs to have a conversation with the General about just how many people are in the know. They had spoken about a trusted few, but she wanted exact numbers. And faces along with names. She wanted to know why these select few needed to know and why she was not consulted or informed about each of them in the first place.
Her mouth tastes awful. She takes another deep breath before nodding to Fedyor. "Let's go."
He offers her an arm and takes her back towards the carriage where Kirigan is waiting. Fedyor gives her another smile before handing her off to the General and leaving. Kirigan gives her his hand to help her into the carriage. She nods to him before getting herself settled again. As soon as the door closes behind him, she brandishes her wand and casts a scourgify on her own mouth. She can practically hear her mother's voice telling her that magic does not excuse poor oral hygiene. Her heart clenches at the thought.
"What were you dreaming of?"
She looks at Kirigan across from her. "It was nothing."
"Clearly, it was not. Otherwise, you would not have been biting your lip hard enough to make it bleed and nearly seizing, all the while murmuring that something was a fake."
She touches her lip. She hadn't even noticed she had bit it.
"We agreed to communicate," he says.
"We did," she agrees. "We also agreed to keep our own secrets." He does not look impressed. "It was a memory."
"A memory?" he frowns slightly at that. "What memory draws reactions like those?"
"That would touch on the secrets we spoke about before." She pauses for a moment. They did agree to a truce. "The nightmares are from the war."
"The war? You have not been here long enough to experience our fight."
"No, but I had my own back home. I have been fighting against people who wanted me dead because of my blood since I was twelve years old...when I found out about my magic. As I grew, the fighting got worse as one man tried to claim power and subjugate any he saw below him, which was everyone. I was with my friends at the head of the fight."
He leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. "How old were you then?"
"Eighteen. It's been...five years since we defeated him."
"So young," he says softly.
She closes her eyes at his words. "I survived," she says. "There were so many...so many who were younger and they didn't. Then the war was over and it was like...everyone just wanted to go back to the way things were. They didn't care that-" she cuts herself off. She's been on this rant before. Her friends used to stare at her, exhausted. Why can't you just relax, Hermione? The war is over. We don't have to keep fighting. We won.
They never understood. The prejudice was still there. She had to claw her way through the Ministry after they had given her a small position, one that gave her no real power. They claimed it was because everyone had to earn their way now. That didn't stop others from being promoted ahead of her, with subpar work, nor did it help when she was blocked at every point some way or another when she was trying to research for her work. Anything that could help her rise in position was kept from her as much as they could without, of course, being obvious that they were doing such things.
"They did not care that the issues you faced were still there." He says it so matter of factly. She looks up to see his eyes are on her, intense and steady. "They expected you to ignore the actions of those who had hurt you, and worse, to tolerate the ones who ignored what was happening to you. It is far more rare that people like us continue to fight for the freedoms we rightfully deserve than it is for others to fall back into the way things are because it is easy."
"Exactly," she breathes.
He smiles at her, something slow that somehow feels as though it is striking right through her. "We are not so different, Ms. Granger."
"It appears not."
They sit in silence for a moment before he speaks again. "The memories you have...will fade. Some of them, at least. The pain will forever remain, but it will also diminish. You have shown extraordinary spirit thus far. I imagine your experiences that still haunt you will not do so forever."
"Thank you," she says softly.
"You are most welcome, Ms. Granger."
"Please. Call me Hermione. You are the only one who will know me by it and I'd prefer to occasionally hear my actual name. Even if it's just from you."
He nods at her. "Thank you."
The rooms she is given are opulent and ostentatious. She dislikes them immediately. She has no need for all the decoration, not when there is a distinct lack of bookshelves. It seems like a waste when she knows how the people are struggling beyond palace walls.
The General allows her a lock on her door. It is a necessary precaution. It will provide a warning to ensure no one walks in while she is doing any magic. It also gives them an explanation if she decides to ward her rooms. She has been doing so since she arrived, but she was less inclined to have people barge into her rooms before she agreed to this deal.
She is in the room for what feels like less than a minute before someone knocks. A quick glance around tells her that there is nothing displayed that should not be. Hermione opens the door.
A red-headed woman is standing on the other side. Behind her are two other women, one who is holding a chest, the other holding a garment bag.
"Well?" the woman says. "Let us in and we shall begin."
"Begin what?" Hermione asks. Her eyes narrow slightly. "Who are you?"
"I am Genya," the redhead says, bowing her head slightly. "I am to make you ready for your presentation."
Hermione is hit with a distinct memory of Ginny, Lavender and Pavarti wanting to help her get ready for the Yule Ball. The memory is gone as fast it comes. She blinks at the women still waiting. "I'm sorry, come in." She steps back and opens the door wider.
The women walk in. The redhead looks around before turning to face her.
Hermione closes the door behind them. She keeps an eye on the other women as Genya looks her over.
"You have good structure. Strip and we will see what needs to be changed."
Hermione frowns. "Changed?"
Genya gives her a soft smile. "I am a Tailor."
"I've never met a Tailor, how does that work?"
"We...alter. I use visual aids to add or subtract colour, shape, and size. It's temporary but effective for the needs of my mistress."
"Your mistress?"
"I serve the Queen."
There's something about the way she says it, or maybe it's the look in Genya's eyes. Hermione can't place it but it's familiar.
"Well," Hermione gives her a smile. "That must be an impressive skill to call on so many talents at once, particularly if you are changing multiple things. Thank you. It's been a long journey. I appreciate you taking the time today."
"There is not much to be done," Genya says with a smile. "You do not need it."
One of the other women snorts. "At least she's not Shu," she says to the other one.
"Excuse me?" Hermione's voice is ice cold. She's been here long enough to hear about Shu Han. The women look at her in surprise. "What did you say?"
"Nothing," the woman says quickly.
"You said something," Hermione replies. "About me not being Shu? What's wrong with being Shu?" The woman does not have an answer. She looks to the others for help. Genya seems content to let her suffer.
"She only meant...that you have good features," the other one says, trying to help her friend out.
"She did not," Hermione snaps. "She meant what she said! There is absolutely nothing wrong with being Shu. There is nothing about looking any different from you or your friends that makes someone else less of a person or worthy of our respect! Get out!" She snarls. "I will not have anyone looking after me who holds such views."
The two women leave quickly and Hermione cannot help her parting shot. "It's a shame you cannot hide that kind of ugly."
Genya stares at her for a moment. "I would caution you to take care in what you say. The Shu have long since been our enemy, especially to us Grisha."
Hermione gives her an unimpressed look. "It is impossible for that to be true of every citizen of Shu Han. Much like assuming that all Grisha are evil. I won't tolerate comments like that if I don't have to." She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. The way the woman had casually said the remark was the same way that others had called Hermione a mudblood.
"Besides, wars tend to be declared by those high in power and fought by those below until they finally say stop. Today's enemy may be tomorrow's ally. I find it is best not to behave as a…twat unless someone's life is in danger." She doesn't mean to swear, but the memories do not always bring out the best in her. Especially not when she's faced with the same thing she's been fighting for years. She's too tired to be polite anymore. "Do you need them back in the room? I won't apologize but I will watch my tongue."
"I do not," Genya says softly. "Truthfully, the lack of them gives me a little peace. They are the Queen's ladies." That was likely going to come back and bite Hermione in the arse. She had insulted and thrown out the Queen's maids. She'd have to find some way to spin it. She's been so caught up in helping spin this web that she has been faltering in her observations about the people around her. That is too dangerous. Especially now.
Hermione strips off her outer layers and stands there.
As Genya walks around her, she's reminded suddenly of standing in Madam Malkins, getting her robes fitted. The memory leaves as quickly as it hits her.
"What is this?" Genya's attention is drawn to the left side of Hermione's ribs. The phoenix tattoo flaps its wings before shifting up and settling between her breasts. Genya's breath catches in her throat.
Hermione goes rigid and swears silently to herself. She had forgotten about it. It had been Ron's idea. A way of celebrating their win. The three of them had gone together. Magical tattoos moved on their own, powered by the wearer's magic once they were ignited by the artist. They had all agreed on the phoenix. The boys because of the order and their choice to join. Hermione liked it because of the meaning behind it. The phoenix was a symbol of rebirth. She chose the position so that it would fly across her scar. She had been reborn, over and over, by the war.
"It's a tattoo. A marking," she clarified.
"Yes, Ms. Granger," Genya said slowly. "It's beautiful."
Hermione smiled softly, ignoring the irritation that flares up at the revelation that another person knows who she is. She needs to have that talk with the General. "Thank you."
"Well," Genya seems to recover quickly. She glances at the tattoo again before she smiles. "Now that I've seen what I'm working with, I will ensure you bathe alone...and we will start after you are in a robe to hide from any...unwanted eyes." Her eyes glance down, likely looking for any other surprises. They linger on her scar. "The current fashions we have will cover this, but this one is more likely to be seen and harder to explain away." Her hand touches Hermione's arm. Hermione flinches automatically.
"I'm sorry," Genya says.
"It's fine." Hermione turns her arm, allowing the woman to see the scar. Genya touches it lightly. "Don't erase it," Hermione says.
Genya looks up at her in surprise. "Are you sure?"
If she was younger, if it had been in the couple of years after it was carved into her, she would have. Now it was a reminder. Despite the hatred and apathy she's faced, she's still here. And Bellatrix isn't.
"Leave my hair too. Please." So many people have tried to change Hermione's hair over the years. Especially after the war.
"Of course," Genya says. She lets go of her arm and gives her a smile. This one feels more real. "General Kirigan brought you an outfit for your presentation."
Hermione watches as Genya lifts the garment bag they had brought in. She pulls out a blue kefta. Hermione stares at it for a moment. She is being presented to the Royals. While she knows she should arrive dressed in a way that is familiar to them, she doesn't want it to be like this.
"Tailors can change clothing too, correct?" she asks Genya.
"Yes."
"Let's change the colour."
